The World Will Follow
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: Life after Blurred Lines
1. Chapter 1

I get as far as outside of Chandler's hotel room before collapsing against the wall next to his door.

That was…awkward.

I hate that it was awkward, but that's the only way to describe it.

Stupid Ross and his stupid bad timing.

I could tell that Chandler was already awake; he probably knew I was awake, too. Neither of us said anything; we were lying there, waiting for the alarm to go off. It surprisingly peaceful, though, just being there in bed with him, tucked almost completely under the blankets, our breathing synced.

Then there was Ross. Which was like being drenched in cold water.

What if he had shown up a few minutes later as I was crawling out of bed? Or ran in to me while I was trying to escape the room? What if Chandler and I had decided to try morning-after sex?

I cover my mouth with my hand, stifling a giggle. Might have been worth being caught just to see Ross run into a wall as he tried to get away.

With a sigh, I push myself away from the wall. Who knows if Ross will be back; it probably wouldn't do for him to see me sneaking out of his best friend's hotel room in the same dress I wore to my brother's rehearsal dinner.

I look back at the door for a moment, biting my lip. Part of me—a very large part of me—wants to go back in there, to hell with the consequences. I had the best sex of my life last night all thanks to the man in that room. What would be the harm in one more time? Or two?

A small part of me also hopes that Chandler will burst out in to the hall, searching for me. I know that's pretty far-fetched, though. He seemed pretty freaked out by Ross running in to the room. Understandable. I think there's probably some sort of guy code about not sleeping with your best friend's little sister, which is stupid. What if the little sister wants to sleep with said best friend, too?

I shake my head, pulling myself out of my daydreams and head down the hall to my room. I cringe a little with every step; I'm sore all over, particularly in my hips.

I smirk a little—they certainly got a workout last night.

I enter my room and sigh. I can't believe last night is actually over. Part of me still can't believe it actually happened, and that it was as incredible as it was. I strip out of my clothing, my dress and underwear falling to the floor, sadness threatening to overwhelm me.

Maybe this is why sleeping with Joey would have been the easier thing to do. Maybe somehow, I knew that being with Chandler would be deeper, more meaningful, more everything, than with wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am Joey. I wouldn't have come out on the other side of last night feeling like I'd been hit by an emotional truck.

I do know, however, that for all the talk about Joey's prowess with women, there's nothing he could have done to me last night that would have made me feel even a fraction as good as Chandler did. Nothing. If the trade-off for mind-blowing sex is awkwardness the next morning instead of feeling just all right after sleeping with Joey, I'll take awkward every day of the week.

I just wish the awkward wasn't combined with what I'm pretty sure is heartbreak.

I drag myself into the bathroom, pulling the bobby pins out of disheveled hair as I go. I bend down to turn on the water and I can smell Chandler on me. I sit down on the edge of the tub and put my head in my hands, groaning in frustration.

Why is this so hard?

Because it's Chandler, I answer myself immediately. It's Chandler with all of his issues and fears and jokes and sweetness and caring. No matter what happens, I'm going to have to tread lightly. Pretty much anything could send him running, and no matter what, I can't lose him as a friend. I can't. He's such a part of my life—such a part of me—that I can't imagine a world where we're not in each other's lives.

I just wish I had known that one night with him would make me realize how much more I actually want, that being with Chandler, being his girlfriend, actually sounds like the best thing ever.

I reach over to the knobs, turning the water on, and stand up with a groan and stretch out my sore limbs. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and stop short.

"Whoa," I whisper, turning around in the mirror, craning my neck to see all angles. My hips, my lower back, my ass, the backs of my thighs, the front of my thighs are covered in tiny, fingertip-sized bruises. I twist my hips a little, and sure enough, bruises grace my inner thighs as well.

"Wow." I look like someone who had a hell of a time last night. I can't say as I'm surprised, either, all things considered—we did have a _lot_ of sex. It's really more surprising that there's not more. Though, maybe there will be—some bruises take a while to show up.

I feel a grin spreading over my face. Maybe it's sick, but I kind of like knowing that a little bit of Chandler will be hiding right under my bridesmaid's dress. It doesn't bother me in the slightest to have a physical reminder that, at least for one night, he had his hands all over me.

I lean closer to the mirror, inspecting my neck, throat, collarbone, shoulders, anything that will be visible through the dress. Not a mark. Not so much as whisker burn. I have no idea how he managed that, but I'm definitely impressed.

I inspect my torse—aside from what looks like could be a thumbprint at the bottom of my ribcage, all is normal. Then I notice my breasts. My smile grows, followed by a giggle. They're covered in tiny little bite marks, and…yeah, that's definitely a hickey around my nipple.

I shake my head to myself, climbing in to the shower. A part of me is loathe to wash off Chandler, even though I know that not showering would be pretty disgusting. I did a lot of sweating last night, not to mention various other…fluids that are probably present.

But, I have my tiny little marks that will remind me of last night.

Like I need a reminder.

As I bathe, I can't help but wonder what Chandler would think if he could see me right now. Would he be upset at having left little bruises? Or would he be as turned on as I am, knowing that the passion between us last night was so great that we couldn't help but leave a few marks?

I wonder if he has any.

He probably has a few welts on his back from my nails scratching at him.

That thought makes me feel a little smug, even as I feel vaguely disgusted at myself for being proud of essentially marking my territory.

Do I consider Chandler my territory now?

If I'm honest, didn't I really kind of think of him as mine before last night, even if it was in a significantly less than carnal way?

I sigh and tilt my head back to let the conditioner run out of my hair and flinch a little as my neck twinges a bit, and am briefly overwhelmed by the memory of the many times I threw my head back last night.

God, he's good.

I wince as I bend over to shave my legs. This is not working at all. Abruptly, I turn off the shower and plug the bath drain, deciding that I have the time and I've more than earned a bubble bath. I pour some of the complimentary bubbles into the rapidly rising water. I start to lower myself into the water and wince again, slowing my descent into the tub.

I sigh as the hot water hits my overused muscles, already feeling the positive effects, and stretch out my leg to turn on the water with my toes, then lean back and relax for a moment.

I take care of my right leg, then gasp out as I bring my left leg up to shave. What the hell did I do…

"Oh, yeah!" I exclaim out loud, pretty sure that even in my solitude, I'm blushing at the memory—my leg thrown over his shoulder and Chandler pounded in to me…I feel my heart speed up just thinking about it.

I carefully lower my leg back into the water, and lean back once more, staring at the ceiling. But entire body aches, but pleasantly so. I feel pretty damn fulfilled.

Well, mostly.

As much as I ache, if given the chance, I'd take him again right now.

My eyes drift shut as I let out a little moan, smiling as the image of the two of having sex in the bathtub runs through my mind.

That would be incredible.

I want him again. I want him so much it actually hurts.

I make up my mind—if he's game, I'm bringing him back to my room tonight.

We'll stay long enough at the reception to be polite, then I'll bring him back here, rip off his fancy clothes and…ride him until his eyes roll back.

I think he'll let me.

I hope.

A horrifying thought grips me—what if he thought it was all a mistake and has no interest in me whatsoever?

That wouldn't happen…right?

I mean, I know for a fact that he had a good time last night.

That doesn't mean he might not regret it.

I feel sadness welling up inside of me once more; he can't regret it.

Please don't let him regret it.

I realize that I'm completely at his mercy. I'll have to follow his lead.

I just hope that he leads us back to this room.


	2. Chapter 2

The door clicks shut behind her and my head immediately falls back against the headboard.

Damn it.

Of all the things that could have happened this morning, Monica quickly getting dressed and running out the door is not what I hoped for.

"I don't want to look" my ass.

Of course I wanted to0= look. I got to look at her all last night and it was spectacular.

Everything about last night was spectacular.

I sink down in the bed, groaning, and am immediately hit with a wall of her. My entire bed smells like her. _I_ smell like her.

I close my eyes and sigh. Last night was the best, most amazing night of my life. It was perfect. I got to have sex with Monica—repeatedly. I somehow managed to make her actually scream my name.

Wow. I think I just now realized that.

Monica was here with me last night—all night—and I made her make sounds I've never heard a woman make before.

In all fairness, she did the same for me. I've never felt anything like it before in my entire life. I've never felt so…whole.

Could she be—

I try to nip that thought in the bud before it completely forms. One night together does not a future make. Besides; I have no idea how much last night meant to her, if it even meant anything.

It…had to mean something, though, right? You can't possibly have sex with someone seven times in one night and it not mean _something_.

I know for a fact that I can't.

Of course, we might have had a chance to talk about some of this had it not been for Ross and his excessive enthusiasm.

I can't even imagine his reaction if he'd seen Monica in bed with me. To say that it would have put a damper on his wedding day would probably be an understatement.

Ross made it awkward, though, even without meaning to. I knew Monica was awake—I could tell by the way she was breathing. I don't think either of us were ready to face the day. Being able to sleep next to her like that was amazing in its own way and I wasn't ready to give it up.

I look to door she bolted out of just a minute ago—I want so badly to go after her, to bring her back here or follow her to her room so we can have an encore performance.

But…what if she regrets it? That thought kills me. I can probably live with her never wanting to sleep with me again. Maybe. But I don't think I could survive it if she thought it was all a mistake.

That thought is enough to keep me glued to my spot. Well, that, and I'm not sure if my legs are working yet. I really can't be sure that I won't immediately fall over when I try to stand, and I don't relish having to explain to anyone why I was found passed out on the floor naked.

God, why did it have to be awkward? Why isn't she still here, curled up next to me, enjoying a morning of post-coital bliss?

"Damn it damn it damn it!" I mumble, throwing the blankets off of me, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and burying my face in my hands. I've screwed this up somehow. Any chance I ever had with Monica is gone forever. I don't even think I can console myself with the memory of last night. Now that I know how mind-blowing being with her is, I only want more.

What I wouldn't give to be able to kiss her right now.

I want her. I want her with an intensity I didn't know was in me.

I just don't know if there's anything I can do that will make her my reality.

I hit my hands on the side of the bed and stand up.

Then I gasp in pain and sit right back down.

Holy crap is my body sore. I wasn't expecting that. I guess it has been a while since those muscles were used. Hell—I'm pretty sure there were a few muscles that got used for the very first time last night.

I stand up again, cautiously this time. I stretch out my limbs—yes, things are sore, but it seems not unpleasantly so. I walk into the bathroom, my mind wandering back to last night. Where the hell did that guy come from? Not just all the stamina, either. I've never been the guy who takes charge like that, who tells a girl to touch herself, who throws her down on a bureau and pounds in to her while watching it all happen in a mirror.

I turn on the water in the shower, checking the temperature absentmindedly. Regardless of where that guy came from, I'm glad he showed up.

I suppose, now that I'm thinking about it, I can't really blame her for feeling uncomfortable this morning. After all, it was her brother that ran in this morning. If it were my sibling that nearly caught me naked like that, I'd probably be a little freaked out, too.

But here's what I'm really wondering—was this morning awkward because it was awkward, or was it awkward because we _thought_ it should be awkward? Because in all honesty, I only started to feel like that this morning because I thought that's how she felt. Everything up until that point was magic; I panicked when I saw Ross, true, but other than that, I didn't feel like anything was wrong.

I still don't. Nothing has ever felt more right. The only regret I have about last night is that it's over. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.

Honestly, though, it wasn't just the sex that was amazing, though it undoubtedly was. It was being with Monica, the fact that all of that was happening with Monica, that for at least one night, she wanted me as much as I want her. For one night, she was mine. It wasn't weird; kissing her wasn't weird, seeing her naked wasn't weird, though it was pretty phenomenal, and having sex with her wasn't weird.

Maybe that it wasn't weird is the weirdest part of all. I feel like I could walk up to her right now and put my arm around her, and it would feel completely natural, like it was meant to be.

I wonder if she's beating herself up over last night, too, or if she's now jabbing a Q-tip in her ear repeatedly to try to dislodge the memory.

I shake my head and realize that I still haven't gotten in to the shower. I sigh as I step under the spray, aware that my thoughts are only leading me around in circles. I turn around to wet my back and let out a loud yelp, jumping out of the shower.

"What the hell?" I exclaim to myself, running over to the mirror. I grab a towel and wipe off some of the fog, contorting my body so I can see my back.

Long red lines mark my back. It takes me longer than I'd like to admit to realize those are fingernail tracks. A grin immediately splits my face. But that can't be what stung so badly. I lean closer to the mirror, wiping off some more fog and can finally see what looks like several tiny scratches on my shoulder blades. The harder I look, the more I can see. Little half-moon indentions litter my back as well.

I've never before done anything to a woman to cause her to actually scratch my back. The smile on my face grows and I feel myself start to do my happy dance.. I allow myself a few moments of victory before I hop back in to the shower, a little carefully this time.

I made Monica scratch my back! On a hotness scale of one to ten, this ranks at about a million. We definitely need to do this again.

I happily scrub my body and wonder if she'd be interested in doing it tonight. I'd go to her now, but I know she has a lot of bridesmaid things to do today, so she probably won't be free until after the ceremony. But maybe during the reception—

I'm jumping the gun. I can't assume that she wants to be with me again. What if she actually does regret last night?

That…can't be, right? You don't regret sex like that, right?

Well, what if she doesn't regret the sex, but regrets doing it with me? That thought feels like a punch in the gut, mostly because that's the sort of thing that would happen to me.

I feel my chest constrict for a moment before I force myself to keep breathing. The only way I'll know is to ask, right? Try to feel her out, see where she stands with last night, and, if all goes well, maybe we'll get to have another night.

Or a few weeks.

Something like that.

As long as she has no regrets about it, I have a shot. As long as she doesn't now think less of me for last night, we could be okay.

One way or another, I'm not going to lose her. If the worst happens and she doesn't want to be with me, I'll be her friend. It will be harder than hell and I think it would kill me, but I'll be her friend.

She deserves at least that much.

*A/N…I have no idea how long this one will be. I originally only intended a two-parter, but you guys seem to want more (pervy pervs!) (Totally kidding). Bear with me while I kick around some ideas. But fear not—I've got a lot of other things I'm working on right now. Please keep tossing out suggestions because some of them have been completely inspirational!


	3. Chapter 3

Chandler presses me against the wall outside of a hotel room, one hand cupping my cheek, the other hand gripping my side. I wrap my arms around his neck and moan into his mouth contentedly.

This is amazing.

Chandler still wants me.

I was so panicked walking down the aisle with him, especially when he started mentioning how last night had been a mistake. Of course, I played along, agreeing that it was stupid even though I could feel my heart breaking.

Until he asked if he could come over tonight. Then that ceremony couldn't end fast enough.

For now, we've established an only-in-London rule. We can only have sex in London because it doesn't count over here; otherwise, our friendship is ruined.

If he keeps kissing me like this, though, I may have to suggest that we move here.

Naturally, now that we've decided we want to do this, the universe is conspiring against us. First, Rachel in my room, then Joey insisting he be let into the room with his bridesmaid and settling in to watch a movie. Fortunately, he didn't even notice when Chandler and I left the room.

The suggestion of the honeymoon suite was Chandler's. We managed to get to the right floor before his lips were suddenly on mine, and I realized that I hadn't kissed him since last night.

I'm still trying to figure out how I've managed to survive this many hours without his lips on mine, without his body pressed against mine. My body is already tingling with anticipation, knowing that in a few minutes, we'll be naked together once more.

"Chandler," I mumble against his lips, trying to get his attention while still kissing him.

"Hmmm?" His arms wrap around me, deepening the kiss, and for a few more minutes the world around me disappears.

Reluctantly, I pull my lips from his. "We should get out of the hall," I murmur.

"You're probably right," he answers, his lips moving to my neck. I whimper as my head lolls back.

"No, seriously. At this point, who knows who is going to come wandering down the hall."

His hands move up to cup my face, bringing our lips together once more. I find I'm having a very difficult time caring who sees us at this point. I want him so badly that hallway sex sounds fantastic.

Abruptly, he pulls away from me, then takes my hand and starts leading me down the hall to our destination. Once there, I have a few moments of doubts about doing this in Ross's room, but it turns out that I'm very easily persuaded by Chandler-logic.

Then Ross actually shows up. And I think I'm going to scream.

All I want to do is have sex with Chandler until we collapse from exhaustion…again. Is that asking so much of the universe? My body actually aches for him, needs his hands on me. I feel like if I don't get him inside of me soon, I will combust.

Naturally, Ross decides to stay put. Because obviously, your wife of several hours who has already run away from you is going to come looking in the honeymoon suite. And of course he wants company right now.

I learn very quickly that time does not move along speedily in situations like this. I love my brother, but I don't know how long I can listen to him complain about this. He said he only needed us to stay for a little while but it's…I crane my neck to look at the bedside clock and actually bite my lip to keep in my scream of frustration.

Almost two hours. He has been going on about Emily and Rachel and how he said the wrong name for almost two hours. That's two hours worth of sex I've missed out on because Ross said the wrong name at the altar.

I grit my teeth and lean back so I can see Chandler behind Ross's back. He's already looking at me, his nostrils flaring. He looks just as frustrated as I feel.

He mouths, "I'm sorry," to me and I just shrug—this certainly isn't his fault. But as our eyes lock, I feel my heart start to flutter. I take deep breaths, trying to keep myself under control. He crooks the corner of his mouth up in a smile, his hand sliding across the bedspread to me, this time safely away from Ross.

I reach my own hand out to him, slowly so that I don't attract Ross's attention. The moment our fingers connect I feel such intense relief. I feel my shoulders relax a little and his smile widens a bit.

Fortunately, my brother is completely oblivious right now, only aware of his own situation. He's blissfully unaware that his best friend and his little sister are having eye sex just inches from him.

Chandler's thumb softly strokes the back of my hand and my body suddenly feels charged with a low hum of electricity.

We could probably have sex right now and Ross would never even notice.

When I realize that I'm actually considering this, I tear my hand away from Chandler. His thoughts must have been similar to my own because he snatches his hand away, too, averting his eyes from mine, and we both go back to staring at the wall.

I feel more frustrated now than I did before.

I went for months without sex before last night, and even in all that time, I never felt as horny as I do now. One would think having sex seven times and, if I'm remember correctly, ten orgasms in night would do something to quell the urge. All I want is more.

So, most likely, it wouldn't be another seven times, but right now, I'd be happy with just once.

Well…I'd be okay with it. As long as there was the promise of more to follow.

I glance at the clock again and sigh. Another hour has gone by. Ross has now moved on to completely rehashing his relationship with Rachel. We have a very limited window of time left in London to do this.

I feel Chandler's hand on mine again. He squeezes my fingers for a couple of seconds, letting me know that he gets it, that he's just as aggravated as I am. We don't look at each other, though. Eye contact will bring this whole house of cards down around us.

All of a sudden Ross lays his head down on my lap and I look at him incredulously. Still oblivious, he misses the look.

And now he's talking about Carol.

Oh, sweet…

I risk a look over at Chandler. "What the hell?" I mouth. Chandler brings his free hand up to his head, pulling the trigger on the imaginary gun. I nod my head in agreement, rolling my eyes. This is ridiculous. I decide I need to put an end to this when I realize Ross is crying, or at least pretty close to it.

I try to reign in my libido for now and be compassionate; my brother is in pain, regardless of it being his own fault. Chandler releases my hand and pats Ross's leg, which is somehow draped across Chandler's lap, sympathetically.

Even so, as his voice drones on, it's hard to care as much as I should.

Eventually, I realize Ross is asleep, and possibly has been for some time. I can see the sun peaking through the windows.

"We have to leave for New York in an hour," Chandler points out.

I think I'm going to cry. Still—an hour is enough time. At this points, five minutes is enough time. "I know. I've been looking at those doors. They look pretty soundproof, right?"

"That's crazy," he says, and my heart drops. "A: He could wake up, and B: you know, let's go for it."

Relief floods through me; he's as desperate as I am right now, which is somewhat comforting.

Carefully, slowly, we try to slide away from Ross.

Then there's a knock at the door, and Ross jumps up, looking around for Emily.

Really, universe? REALLY?

Chandler and I look at each other in disgust and slowly follow Ross out into the sitting area.

All of a sudden, I feel his hand slide quickly down my back, over my hip, then back up again. I look at him over my shoulder, his face carefully set to innocent. Instantly, my body is on fire again, every nerve ending tingling.

I have to find a way out of this London-only clause.

* * *

*A/N...I know...kinda fluffy filler. It's okay, though. I have a plan. I'm writing it now ;)


	4. Chapter 4

I walk out in to the hallway, disgusted with myself. A high five? Who does that? What the hell is wrong with me?

A million thoughts are swirling through my head at once.

We want each other—there's nothing wrong with that.

We kept trying and trying to make it happen but things kept stopping us—is the universe trying to tell us something?

But what about our friendship?

Can our friendship survive if we let whatever is happening between us fizzle out?

Do I want it to fizzle out?

Could we possibly make this work?

I just want to rush back in there and take her in my arms and make love to her for hours. I wish I had a time machine, so we could back to London and—

My head snaps up and I push open her apartment door again, throwing it shut behind me. I'm startled to realize she's no longer near the couch—it almost looks like she was headed toward me.

"I'm still on London time—does that count?"

The look on her face answers my question before she can respond. "Oh, that counts."

We rush toward each other. I mumble, "Oh, good," as our arms wrap around each other, our lips colliding. Instantly, I feel calmer than I have in almost two days. This is real. This is really happening. It's not because we're in London and not because someone's upset—it's happening because we want it to happen.

She wants me as much as I want her.

I pull her closer to me, deepening the kiss. I never want my lips to leave hers.

She moans softly, her arms slipping under my jacket. Her dress bunches up in my hand as I grab at her.

We pull away from each other slowly, taking in deep, gulping breaths. She grins up at me and my heart stops for a moment—it's the same smile I saw the other night, the same smile that makes me weak in the knees.

"Are we really gonna do this?" I ask, smiling back at her.

"I sure as hell hope so."

I lean in to kiss her again when she disappears out of my arms. "What—"

I turn around and see she's at the door, engaging the chain and turning the lock. "I don't want to be disturbed," she says simply, turning around to look at me.

I swallow heavily, my heart rate increasing. I walk over to her and pull her in to my arms, hugging her. I press my cheek against the top of her head, breathing in her smell. My body's reaction to her is almost instantaneous. She reaches around her back to grab my hands, taking them in hers. She looks up at me and tilts her head, leading me to her bedroom.

My heart really starts to race now—sex in a hotel is one thing, but this is her personal, private space.

The door clicks shut behind us and she tears my jacket off and nearly tackles me, the force of it sending me crashing in to the door. "Sorry," she mumbles against my lips, sounding wholly insincere. Her hands work at the buckle of my belt; my hands slide under the hem of her dress, stroking her soft skin. She untucks my shirt, her hands skimming up my chest. I pull away from her lips, gasping.

"Please tell me you have condoms."

She grins at me and hops on her bed, opening her nightstand and pulling out a box triumphantly. "The economy-sized variety pack for whatever happens to come up."

I smile and lean in to kiss her, letting out a little yelp when she pulls me down on to the bed next to her. She scoots into a kneeling position and I follow suit, happy to let her take the lead for right now. Her fingers quickly undo the buttons on my shirt, and I'm soon left in only my t-shirt and pants.

I put my hands on her waist, gently pulling her back to me, kissing her slowly. She whimpers and I bring a hand up to cradle her head.

Eventually, I move my hands down to her shoulders, pushing the straps of her dress to the side, and am disappointed when it goes nowhere. I reach around to her back, trying to find a zipper. No luck.

"What the hell is wrong with your dress?" I exclaim.

She giggles softly, her hand coming up to caress my jaw. "It's on the side."

"A side zipper? What the hell is that?" I'm getting alarmingly frustrated with something so simple.

"Calm down, Chandler. I promise you, we'll get naked. Deep breaths." She's teasing me. I'm panicking over something that's not even a big deal and she's teasing me.

She grabs my t-shirt and pulls it over my head, tossing it over her shoulder, leaning forward to press her lips against my chest, right over my heart. Our arms slide around each other once more, holding tight for a moment.

She finally lifts an arm, exposing the zipper, and I tug it down gently, watching the fabric fall away from her body.

"You're not wearing a bra?" I choke out.

"Doesn't really fit under the dress."

"You mean to tell me that I sat next to you for all the hours on a plane and the whole time you weren't wearing a bra?"

"Well, I certainly didn't take it off midflight. Why?"

"How did I keep my hands off of you?"

"A better question would be, why are you keeping your hands off of me now?"

Immediately, I give the sides of her dress a little tug, and then she's kneeling before me in nothing more than a skimpy little thong. My groin tightens considerably. "Monica," I whisper, pulling her closer to me, my lips wrapping around her breast.

I feel her jump and a moment later, she pulls my head away, turning it to her right breast. "What's wrong?"

"You already gave me a hickey on that one. I need balance."

"I did what?"

If possible, her grin widens. "Check it out," she tells me, shifting to the left a bit, and I'm suddenly up close and personal with her nipple.

"Uhh…"

"Suddenly you're shy? Apparently, one got more attention than the other, so I'm trying to correct that."

I swallow heavily and inspect her carefully. Sure enough, one is slightly darker than the other. "I didn't mean to do that."

"I know. But wait! Check out the rest of me." Before I can ask, she's leaning back from me, pointing to her legs. My mouth drops open in shock—tiny bruises dot her hips and thighs.

"Oh, my God. I'm so sorry."

"I'm not," she exclaims, and she does look pretty happy. "That night was great; a couple of bruises from you holding me tight is a pretty happy side effect for me."

I lean down and place gentle kisses on the discolored spots. Even though she seems okay with it, I hate the thought that I might have hurt her without realizing it.. She sighs, and I can feel her fingers softly stroking my back.

"I guess I did that to you, huh?"

I look up at her, confused for a moment, before my face splits in half with a smile, remembering the nail marks she left on my back. "Never had a woman scratch my back before. It's pretty hot."

"Yeah, well, I've never had a guy leave bruises on me; I happen to find that pretty hot, too."

I decide it's not worth arguing about, so I hook my finger in the waistband of her thong and start to drag it down, surprised when she bats my hand away. "Um, ow?"

She gives my shoulder a little push. "Take your pants off."

"Bossy," I mumble good-naturedly, even as I stand to remove the garment.

"This surprises you?" she asks, opening the box of condoms, digging through for the right size.

I choose to play it safe and not answer that question. Instead, I pull off my pants, kicking off my shoes in the process. She reclines against the headboard and smiles at me. I pick up one of her feet, inspecting the sandal that covers it, trying to figure out how to remove it. "Why are your clothes so complicated?"

"it's just a little buckle," she answers. She brings her free foot toward her hand, pulling the shoe off with a flick of her wrist. It takes me a few more moments, but I manage to free her other foot, sliding a hand up and down her calf for a moment.

"Are we stalling?" I ask.

"We might be," she answers, biting the corner of her lip. "Why?"

"Maybe I'm scared this is all a dream. I'll wake up all of a sudden and still be flying over the Atlantic. Or worse, alone in my hotel room."

She gives my hand a tug, and I go willingly into her arms, her legs falling open to cradle me. Our skin touches for the first time in days and I shudder at the contact. She pulls my face to hers, kissing me deeply.

I almost can't handle it; I'd already forgotten how incredible it felt to be with her like this. Or maybe I forced myself to forget.

"if this is a dream, I never want to wake up," she whispers to me, and it nearly makes me come undone.

I kiss her neck, trying to maintain control. "Why were you stalling?"

I can feel her swallow heavily, her throat moving under my lips. "I'm worried that it was all a fluke; that it won't be as good this time."

"Well, I can't promise another seven in one night, but I think it'll be even better this time."

"Why's that?"

"I don't know about you, but I picked up a few tips last time." With that, I slide my hand in between us, my fingers finding their way beneath her underwear. As soon as I make contact, her hips buck up, and she throws her head back.

"Ohhhh," she moans.

"I don't think this part will be any trouble at all," I tell her softly, my lips finding hers once more.

Her hips move slowly against my hand, my fingers pushing in to her, causing her to breathe in sharply. "I think we'll be okay," she gasps. I feel her nails digging in to my back again, and I grin, knowing I'm doing something right.

Her hips are starting to move faster, her breathing becoming more rapid. "So good," she moans, her back arching off the bed. "How do you do this to me?"

I don't know how to answer that—honestly, I'm not really sure. With Monica, it's been mostly instinct. I move my hand, causing her to protest. "Nooooooo."

"It's okay," I whisper. I roll off of her for a moment and dispose of both her underwear and mine. "What did you do with—" Before I can finish the question, a condom hits me in the chest.

"Sorry," she tells me, giggling.

"I doubt that, but I'll let it slide this time." I pull on the condom and crawl back over to her, settling my body against hers once more. She wraps her limbs around me, pulling me closer, and the friction created between us makes us both moan.

I kiss the tip of her nose. "You ready?" She nods enthusiastically and we shift our hips so that I can slide in to her.

"Chandler," she moans in a low voice. "Yeeeeeessssss."

I thrust against her slowly—this feels like coming home. It feels even more perfect than it did the other night. "God, you're amazing."

"You are," she answers, her arms tightening around me, her lips pressing against mine.

Her soft moans fill the room, fascinating me. I have no idea how I'm able to do this to her, why she responds to me this way, but it's absolutely incredible. I stare at her in awe, taking in the way her mouth falls open with every thrust, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasps for breath, the lines of her throat. She's beautiful. Completely, one hundred percent beautiful.

I'm completely floored for a moment, and I have to stop, pressing my forehead to hers. "What's wrong?" she asks, her voice high-pitched and breathy.

I shake my head, gasping for air. "I just can't believe this is really happening."

Her hand comes up to stroke my cheek. "This is so much better than London."

I feel my chest constrict with an unnamed emotion, so I smile at her, leaning in to kiss her once more. Our hips start moving together once more, the rhythm increasing.

"Monica," I moan in to her mouth. "Oh, Monica."

Her fingertips dig in to my back and she groans; I think she likes when I say her name. I kiss my way down her neck, down her collarbone, but can't reach her breasts. In a move I didn't know I could pull off, I wrap my arms around her and drag myself to my knees, barely missing a stroke. The view offered from this position is pretty impressive—her breasts are now right in front of my face.

"Which one?" I ask breathlessly.

"Doesn't matter," she moans, grabbing my head and pulling it to her chest. I happily latch on, the noises that are now leaving her mouth better than ever.

I make another mental note; her breasts are extraordinarily sensitive. Happy to oblige.

I dig my fingers in to her hips, keeping her in place, setting the pace, and she groans happily. "Ohhh. Ohhhhhhh Gooooood yessss."

My grip on her tightens, and somewhere in the back of my mind it registers that this is exactly how she got all those little bruises, but I don't think I could bring myself to stop at this point.

Her head falls back as she rocks against me, the noises she makes growing louder with every thrust. I pull her hips against me faster, desperate to hear more, to see more, to feel more.

"Oh, God, baby, right there," she gasps, her head shooting up, her movements becoming more frantic.

Did she just call me "baby?" Christ, that's hot. I feel my body respond to her desperate movements, my stomach tightening.

With no other warning, her body tenses around me for a second before thrusting wildly, my name falling from her lips in a desperate moan. I find my release just moments later, clutching at her frantically, yelling wordlessly, matching her thrust for thrust.

Our bodies slowly calm down, though I don't release her. I hold her close, stroking her skin, taking deep breaths, our limbs entwined and shaky. As happy as I felt in London, this is ten times better. At least.

"Can I ask you something?" she mumbles in to my neck, her hands playing with sweaty hair.

"Shoot," I answer, kissing her shoulder.

"Where did that guy come from?"

"What are you talking about?"

She leans back a bit, looking me in the eye. "The Chandler in bed with me is nothing like the Chandler I've known for years. In bed you're all decisive and take-charge and ridiculously sexy. Don't get me wrong—I think it's great, and I've always liked the other Chandler, but if I'd known about this guy, I would have done this with you a long time ago."

I smooth the hair away from her face, kissing the hollow of her throat. "I don't know, Mon. I think this guy was just waiting for a green light from you."

"Well, just so there's no confusion, my light is very much green."

"I'll keep that in mind," I tell her, moving up to kiss her lips. I rock our bodies forward and we fall gently against the pillows, still tangled up in each other.

* * *

*A/N…I'm pretty sure this is going to have to just be an ongoing fic, so whenever the mood hits me, I'll add another chapter. I kind of like where it's going.

On another note, I got to see Counting Crows live last night and dudes…so fucking cool. They sang Long December and I was like OMG Courteney Cox! YES.


	5. Chapter 5

I wake with a start, disconcerted by my surroundings a few moments. I blink in surprise to see Chandler's sleeping face so close to mine before the memory of the last few days come flooding back to me. A smile spreads across my face as I snuggle a little closer to him, pressing a kiss to his chest.

I feel his body give a little jerk and hear him take in a quick breath through his nose before his grip tightens around me. "Hey," he whispers, his lips against my forehead.

"Hey."

"What time is it?"

With some difficulty, I poke my head up to look over his shoulder at my clock. "It's almost ten."

"In the morning?"

"No, at night. It's still dark out. Jet lag's a bitch, isn't it?" I ask as I roll on to my back, stretching out my sore, happy body. He rolls with me, burying his face in my neck, kissing me behind my ear. "Know what?"

"What's that?" he mumbles.

"This still isn't weird."

He lifts his head and smiles down at me. "I know. It feels the exact opposite of weird, actually." He leans down and kisses me slowly, lazily, with no intent other than to kiss. It feels amazing to just lie in bed with someone and make out.

"Know what else?" he whispers, coming up for air.

"Hmmmm?"

"I really like waking up next to you."

My breath catches in my throat; I wasn't expecting that. I swallow heavily, bringing up a hand to stroke his hair. "Well, any time you want to…" I let the thought trail off, not wanting to push too hard.

"Noted," he answers, grinning. He kisses me again for a few moments before resting his head next to mine on the pillow. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why do you have a variety pack of condoms in your bedside table?"

I burst out laughing. "Oh, that. Well, see, I believe in that whole safety-first thing."

"No, I'm with you there," he tells me. "It's the variety part I'm questioning."

I shrug, trying not feel self-conscious. "It's been a while since I had sex, you know? But I like to be prepared, just in case. So, I figured if I had a variety of sizes, should the need arise, I'd be ready."

"I guess the most difficult part to believe is that you were in the middle of a dry spell."

"It happens."

"Yeah, but not to hot girls."

"Even to hot girls," I assure him. "At any rate, I'll go out tomorrow and get condoms that are the appropriate size."

"You don't have to do that."

I feel my heart rate pick up, and part of me starts to panic. "I don't?"

"I'm the guy—I'll do that."

Instantly, I feel relief. He's not done with me, he's just being chivalrous. "I don't mind buying them."

"Neither do I. Besides, if someone we know sees you buying condoms, you'll have to answer all sorts of questions about the who and the why and blah blah blah. If someone sees me doing it, well, it's just me being a guy buying rubbers. No one questions that."

I giggle a little. "How about we both buy them and double our odds of having sex?"

"Oooh. I like that." He leans in to kiss me and I smile against his lips. Kissing Chandler is really outstanding. Right now, it's even better than it has been before. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that we're not trying to milk this night for all it's worth—it seems like we'll have tomorrow night, and the night after that, and the night after that until we get sick of each other. If that ever happens.

"Hey, Chandler, I have to kick you out for a few minutes."

"What?! Why?"

"Relax. You just need to go check on Joey. I mean, if he's still home or awake, won't he wonder where you are?"

"I guess you have a point. What should I do if he wants to know where I've been?"

"I don't know—tell him you fell asleep on the couch or something. But what do you think the odds are that he'll there?"

"Knowing Joey…pretty slim. He was pretty homesick, so he's probably out living the New York life."

"Good. So, while you're over there, if you want to bring over some clothes for the morning, you're more than welcome to." I bite my lip, hoping that sounded casual.

"Okay!" I look up at him and he's grinning from ear to ear; I feel myself relax and remind myself that he wants this, too, as much as I do.

"Okay. Ummm…I'm going to take a shower. With everything that's been going on, I haven't really been able to do that since the morning of the wedding so…but, you're welcome to join me."

His eyes grow wide, his mouth dropping open a bit. "I just might be able to do that."

I take a deep breath. "Good." I give him a nudge, reminding him that he has to get up, before getting out of bed myself, grabbing my bathrobe off the back of the door. I turn around as I tighten the sash to see Chandler still in bed, staring at me intently. "What?"

"You have a phenomenal body."

I can actually feel my face growing hot; I don't know how to respond to that. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to need an answer; he pulls himself out of bed, so I have a chance to admire his form for a moment before he pulls on his own clothes. I notice that his t-shirt is still in a heap by my closet, and I hope that maybe he'll leave it.

I reach my hand out for him as I open the bedroom door, feeling inexplicably giddy when his fingers thread through mine. We pause at the front door as I undo the locks; all of a sudden, he turns me to him and pulls me in for another kiss.

"I'll be back in a couple of minutes," he tells me in between kisses. "If Joey _is_ over there, it might take me a little longer, but I'll be back."

"Hurry," I tell him, kissing him a few more times before he disappears out the door. As soon as I hear the latch click in to place, I bolt in to the bathroom, desperate to get all the embarrassing things out of the way before he gets back—peeing, shaving, brushing my teeth.

I turn on the water in the tub as I brush my teeth, inspecting my face. Fortunately, the makeup I put on early this morning has stayed put—no raccoon eyes, no streaks. Of course, he probably doesn't care about that. As long as I'm naked and putting out, the rest is most likely incidental.

I hop in to the shower and get through shaving as quickly but as thoroughly as possible. My mind briefly wanders to the fact that Chandler and I might be together long enough for this sort of thing to not matter anymore. I push that thought aside—for whatever reason, it matters to me now. It shouldn't—there's a good possibility that with all the years we've known each other, he's seen me do all of these things—but right now it matters.

I'm rinsing the shampoo out of my hair when I hear the bathroom door open. "Mon?"

I grin as I stick my head around the shower curtain. "Hi!" He looks even more adorable than he did a few minutes ago.

"You sure you want me in there?"

"Positive," I answer, pulling myself back under the spray. A few moments later, he steps in to the tub with me and my heart starts to beat a little faster. For some reason, this feels just as intimate as anything else we've done to this point. We stand there, looking at each other for a few moments, both a little unsure of what to do next. I finally grab his arm and pull him to me, standing on tiptoes to kiss him. I feel him relax instantly.

We shift a bit so that he's under the spray; he's tall enough so that he blocks most of the water from hitting me in the face, which is nice. He tilts his head back, getting his hair wet, and I grab my shampoo. As I'm reaching up to lather his hair, he grabs my arm, stopping me.

"Whoa whoa. I can't use your shampoo. Don't you think it'll be a little suspicious with me smelling like you?"

I raise my eyebrow at him in disbelief. "Chandler, you've been stealing my shampoo and shower gel for years. Not a single person will think anything of you smelling like me."

"You knew about that?"

I roll my eyes, massaging the shampoo in to his scalp. "As it happens, I _do_ know what my bath products smell like."

He grins, leaning down to kiss me, the shampoo standing up on his head at odd angles. "You always smell so nice—can you blame me for wanting some of that?"

I bite back my own smile. "Fine." I turn and grab my conditioner, rubbing some of that in to my hair before squeezing shower gel in to my loofah. Before he can react, I start to lather up Chandler. He watches me with a combination of lust and amusement as I concentrate on his arms, his legs, his chest. I look up at him and he leans in to give me another kiss, most of the shampoo gone from his hair now.

I could really get used to kissing him.

Hell, I think I'm already used to kissing him.

"Turn around," I tell him, my voice a bit lower than normal. He obliges and I wash his back, carefully cleaning the what I can only describe as claw marks I've inflicted upon him. I slide my arms around his waist, leaning my head between his shoulder blades.

He gently plucks the loofah out of my hands and turns in my arms. I can feel his erection pushing against me insistently. "Your turn," he whispers before I can reach for him, and gently begins scrub my body. It's incredibly erotic.

I sigh and close my eyes as he cleans me thoroughly, taking his time. He steers me under the water for a moment, rinsing my hair and my body, before returning to our previous position, his fingers tracing gently circles on my wet skin. I feel myself start to ache for him again, the need overpowering. I reach in between our bodies, gently taking hold of him with one hand, the other hand grabbing the back of his neck, pulling his face to mine. He gasps in to my mouth as I start to slide my hand up and down his length. My hand releases his neck and slides slowly down his side, resting on his hip. I break the kiss, my lips trailing down his chest, his stomach, and I gently drop to my knees in front of him, eye to eye, so to speak with his erection. Without thinking about it, I slide my tongue down one side of him and back up the other.

His entire body spasms. "Jesus!"

I like that kind of response. So I do it again. And again. Then I take him in my mouth, closing my eyes, and hum happily. Not only am I actually pretty good at this, but I find I enjoy doing it. I'm sure it has something to do with being completely in control of someone else.

I feel Chandler's hand on my shoulder, trying to push me away. I open my eyes and look up at him, keeping my lips around him. His eyes are wide and his chest is moving rapidly as he struggles to breath. "You don't have to do this," he gasps.

I slowly release him from my mouth, my hands immediately taking its place. "Do you not want me to?" I ask, hoping he won't make me stop.

"No, it's not that. I just don't want you to feel like you have to."

I lean forward and kiss his hip, moving my lips across him slowly, kissing my way up his length, flicking the tip with my tongue. "Do you want me to stop?"

His silence is all the answer I need. I wrap my lips around him once more, taking him further in to my mouth.

"I should warn you," he pants, "that it won't take me long like this."

I pull back from him for a moment. "Think you'll be able to recover from this quickly enough to have sex again tonight?"

His mouth falls open, his pupils dilating to the point where I can no longer see the blue. He nods enthusiastically, so I continue with my ministrations, my hands sliding around to his ass, squeezing him. He groans loudly and I take him deeper, humming once more.

His body shudders, so I hum again. I pull my head back and forth slowly, alternating between licking and sucking, gently scraping my teeth against him.. I look up at him again and he's staring down at me, a look of wonder and desire on his face.

I'm so turned on right now, I can't stand it.

I see him desperately grabbing at the wall, trying to find something to hold on to. I reach up and manage to grab his arm, bringing his hand down to my head. I guide it to the hair at the base of my skull, threading his fingers through the hair there, squeezing his hand shut.

"You sure?" he asks breathlessly, and I nod as best I can. His fingers tighten and tugs at my hair and I moan around him, causing his body to jerk a little. He tugs again and I gasp—this feels incredible.

I speed up my movements; I can feel his hand flexing and releasing in time with me, pulling and releasing, and it's all I can do to not touch myself. But I want this to be about him.

All of a sudden, his hand tenses, the motions stopping. "Mon—Mon…I'm about…I'm going to…"

I take that as my cue; I take him as far in as I can handle, and he thrusts against my mouth frantically, releasing himself in to me, his cries echoing throughout the bathroom.

His motions start to slow down, so I follow suit, pulling back until he's out of my mouth, stroking him gently as he tries to get his breathing under control, his head still thrown back under the spray of the shower, his mouth open.

He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

His head snaps forward suddenly, and he pulls me up his body, dragging my mouth to his. He keeps one arm around me as his other hand slides down my pelvis, his fingers entering me quickly.

I gasp out—how did he know? I push myself against his hand desperately; I can feel his fingers curling inside of me, pumping in and out of me quickly; I'm so turned on that I know this will only take moments.

"CHANDLER!" I scream suddenly, my head falling back, pushing against him as quickly as I can, my hands grabbing his arms as I try to hold on.

Without warning, the water starts to turn cool and we both jump in shock. I disentangle myself quickly, reaching around him to turn off the water. He pulls me back in to his arms, and we stand there for a while, breathing heavily, water dripping off our bodies.

"That was incredible," he whispers in to my hair.

I nod, burying my face in to his chest, my legs so shaky that I know he's the only thing holding me up right now. I finally look up at him and smile. "Thank you."

He shakes his head, smiling back at me. "Uh-uh. Thank _you_." He leans down and kisses me thoroughly before we step out of the tub and wrap ourselves in towels.


	6. Chapter 6

I watch as Monica peeks in to the fridge, bathrobe wrapped around her slight frame, hair still wet from that _amazing_ shower we just took, and my feel my heart flutter a little. She's pretty incredible.

Incredible is not a strong enough word for it, but I don't know that I could find an existing word that's appropriate.

"Want some water?" she asks, bottles of water already in hand.

"Sure," I say, moving toward her, taking one of the bottles from her. "Sex and international travel tend to dehydrate me."

She grins as she closes the refrigerator door and steps toward me, hooking a finger in the top of my pajama pants and dragging me closer. I wasn't sure about the pajamas when I brought them over a little earlier—I didn't know if I was being presumptuous because she only mentioned clothes for tomorrow but she doesn't seem phased in the slightest.

Our arms wrap around each other and I jump as the cold plastic hits my back, yelping a little.

She moves the bottle away quickly and bites her lip. "Sorry."

"Worth it," I tell her, pulling her face to mine. I'm pretty sure I could kiss her all day if given the chance. I keep one arm wrapped around her shoulders as the other hand slides down her back. My fingers skim over her ass before trailing down to the edge of her robe. I raise the hem a bit and softly stroke her thigh and she stands on tiptoe, bringing herself closer to me.

I'm pretty sure this is what perfect feels like.

She pulls back from me slowly, our lips chasing each other, kissing each other softly, our smiles getting in the way.

"Drink your water," she tells me, her lips finally out of reach. "I need you hydrated."

My pulse quickens and I feel myself stir a bit. I have to admit that I'm pretty impressed with my stamina lately. But being with Monica is so unlike anything else in my life—I hate to say that I can't control it, because that's not what it feels like. I think it's just that I can't wait to connect with her again, to share those moments when we're one person.

I chug my water, keeping my eyes on her the whole time. She blushes a little and shifts from foot to foot, but maintains the eye contact. Finally, she reaches out to me again and I take her hand willingly—I'm finding that I really like the way her hand feels in mine, the way our fingers fit together so perfectly. She turns and leads me to her bedroom, and I wonder for what has the be the millionth time if this is really happening to me. Can this be real life?

I push the bedroom door shut behind us and Monica's robe falls to the floor. My breathing speeds up as she stands naked before me, in awe at the amount of trust she's giving me. Everything about her is completely perfect.

I untie the drawstring on my pants, pushing them down to my ankles then kicking them away. I watch as her pupils dilate and a flush spreads across her chest, and feel my male ego swell with pride. I turn her on. Monica Geller is turned on by _me_.

Simultaneously, we reach for each other, our lips fusing together, our hands roaming wildly. I moan as our naked bodies move against each other; I don't think I could ever get enough of this feeling.

Her knees hit the back of the bed and she sits down; I chase after her, my lips finding her once more as she scoots back further. I crawl along with her, keeping her face cradled in my hands, until she's reclined against her pillows. She gives my leg a nudge with her knee so I slide down until our bodies are flush. My hands skim down her sides, enjoying the way her skin jumps beneath my touch. I gently take hold of her leg and hook it around my back, bringing us closer. She tears her lips from mine, moaning at the increased contact, her hips moving gently against mine.

I press my forehead against hers and she whispers, "Chandler." I swallow heavily—no one has ever said my name the way she does.

I fumble in the nightstand for a condom, which is incredibly difficult to do when she's moving against me like that.

"Hey, Mon," I say softly.

"Hmmm?" is her only response as she bites her lip, her hands stroking slowly up and down my back, her hips continuing their sensuous rhythm.

"Is there any position you prefer? I mean, one you need to be in to…"

"Not in the last several days. I've been pretty good to go lately." She reaches a hand up to stroke the hair off my forehead. "But I can tell you like to be on top."

"Yeah, but…" I think I can feel my face heating up; I can't believe I'm about to confess this to her already. "It's only because I really like being able to hold you close."

I can actually feel her heart speed up beneath my chest. "Oh."

"Is that okay?"

She only nods, leaning her head up to kiss me again. I pull back a few moments later to pull on the condom before settling back in her arms, kissing her once more. Our hips move against each other slowly, creating a wonderful friction that could be my undoing.

She whimpers softly and I groan in response as her hips shift further apart, inviting me in. She thrusts against me and I can't help but chuckle softly. "Subtle," I tell her.

"Subtle is for suckers," she answers, pushing against me again.

"Can't argue with that." I shift back for a moment before sliding in to her, her back arching off the bed to meet me, a long, low moan falling out of her mouth.

This really is the most intense feeling I've ever experienced.

I kiss her slowly, deeply, keeping our movements slow, too. I don't feel the need to rush through this.

I pull back, almost completely leaving her, before slowly pushing back in, over and over and over, alternating between kissing her and watching her facial expressions.

I still can't believe I'm doing this to her, that she is so responsive to me.

I bring my hips back to hers, thrusting in to her quickly several times, feeling her fingers dig in to my back, her legs wrapping around mine, the movements her hips mimicking mine, before resuming my long, slow stroking, her motions still following mine.

My lips trail down the side of her face, down her neck, down to her collarbone then to her shoulder. I nip her softly, causing a little squeak to leave her lips, her body jerking for a second. "God, you're beautiful," I whisper. I bring my head up so I can look down at her, smoothing the hair back from her face. "So beautiful." My hips speed up again for a few moments and her eyes flutter shut, her mouth falling open as more soft moans escape.

"God," she whispers, her arms wrapping around me a little tighter and I resume our slow movements, trying to grind my pelvis against hers with each stroke.

My breath catches in my throat suddenly—she really is beautiful. She's so much more than that, actually. The amount of trust she's putting in me right now, allowing me to take the lead, how she reacts to me…it's all so much more than I ever could have expected, and probably more than I deserve. I cradle her body in my arms, completely in awe of this astonishing woman.

I may not deserve this, but I will try to like to feel like I do.

I speed up a bit, my movements a bit more insistent, and she matches me thrust for thrust. She moans suddenly, her head turning to the side, burying her face my arm for a moment. "Ohhhhhhhhhh."

I bend down and kiss her neck and her hands leave my back, coming up to clutch at a pillow. "Ohhhh, how do you do this to me?" she asks rhetorically. "Oh, what you do to me…"

My hand reaches out, linking my fingers with hers, something about that particular connection that makes all of this feel even more special.

Her hand clutches mine, our knuckles turning white, as her free hand grabs at my back once more, her hips pushing against mine adamantly. I wish I had something eloquent to say at a moment like this—some way to express that she's the only thing in this world that matters right now, maybe the only thing that matters at all—but all I can manage are guttural noises that can't possibly do a moment like this justice.

Fortunately, words don't seem to matter to her right now; she moans in to my ear and my entire body quivers. She whispers my name again and my hips start to speed up. When my name falls out of her mouth as a yell, I fight for control, not ready to end this. I force my hips to slow down, I take deep breaths, and she whimpers.

"I need you," she whispers in to my ear. "I need you so much."

My body jerks against her involuntarily a few times and suddenly she's convulsing around me, clutching at me, moaning. "Oh, yes. Yesyesyes."

I regain control, resuming my pace, watching her fall apart around me. She's stunning; she's captivating.

She presses her cheek to mine, panting in to my ear. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

I clutch her hand tighter, pushing in to her harder, causing us both to groan louder. She bites my earlobe and I squeeze my eyes shut, pausing in my motions.

She thrusts her hips against mine. "Told you not to stop," she gasps, clenching her inner muscles.

"Monicaaaaaa," I moan. I put my forehead on the pillow next to her head, taking shaky breaths.

She takes mercy on me and stills her movements, her rapid breathing in my ear doing little to help me calm myself.

"Kiss me," she breathes.

I release her hand, wrapping my arms around her, and kiss her ferociously, my hips resuming their movements, the pace quickening, our bodies moving together.

"Chandler," she moans against my lips. "Please."

I don't know what she's begging for and I don't care. I'll give her anything and everything I own to make her happy. Anything she needs or wants is hers.

I hold her tighter, pumping harder.

"We fit together so perfectly," she whispers. "Did you notice?"

I stop my movements again, and she makes a noise of protest. I lean down and kiss her gently. "I noticed."

She smiles at me; tears spring to her eyes. "What's wrong?" I ask, stroking her hair.

She shakes her head, the tears slipping down the sides of her face. "Nothing."

"You're crying," I point out.

"I'm okay. Lots of emotions going on right now, they need to find a way out."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive. Everything is perfect. Please keep going."

I lean down, kissing away her tears. My hands frame her face, my eyes locking with hers as we start to move again. Her eyes fill with tears again as the tension between us builds again rapidly. "You're sure you're okay," I ask.

"I'm wonderful," she answers, sliding her hand to the back of my neck, pulling my lips to hers, effectively silencing me. She arches her back off the mattress and I groan, needing no more encouragement. I move against her faster, the enthusiastic sounds coming out of her despite the tears egging me on.

Her nails dig in to my back, and I vaguely acknowledge that I may have permanent scars there eventually if we keep having sex.

Scars I'd be more than happy to bear if it means I get to be with her.

I kiss down her neck once more, stopping occasionally to suck gently on her soft skin. Her legs wrap more tightly around my waist, her head falling back. "Ahh ahh, oooo, ohhh, Goooooood," she moans.

Our hips move faster against each other; I watch Monica's face contort in pleasure and groan loudly. "C'mon, baby," I tell her. "C'mon."

"Call me 'baby' again," she moans, and I'm surprised to realize I've called her that.

"Baby," I whisper to her, shifting the angle of my hips.

"Yessssssss," she hisses, moving against me faster. "Again."

"You're so hot, baby. So sexy. Want you so bad," I breathe, feeling my control slipping.

She grabs my lower back, clutching it to her, her hips moving frantically. "Yes, Chandler YES!"

I feel myself erupt inside of her, and I cry out, pounding in to her, our bodies slamming against each other, everything in my body tingling, feeling myself shatter and come back together stronger, more complete.

Our movements slow down gradually, moans still slipping from our mouths.

"That was incredible," she whispers in my ear.

"_You're_ incredible, baby," I tell her, kissing her forehead. I look down at her, and she smiles up at me.

I slowly shift off of her, trying to prolong the contact but reluctant to crush her beneath me. I toss the condom then gather her in my arms once more.

"You sure you don't mind me staying tonight?"

Her arm wraps around my stomach as she leans up to kiss me. "I would prefer if you did, actually."

"Good, because I don't think I could walk right now if my life depended on it."

Her face lights up in a smile as she settles down next to me, her head pillowed in the crook of my arm. "You are welcome."

I smile as I grab her hand, playing with her fingers. "Thank you," I breathe.

She presses a quick kiss to my shoulder. "Anytime, baby."

My breath catches for a moment—I'm not sure if that was on purpose or by accident, but the effect is the same. My heart feels like it could burst.

I hear her breathing even out as she drifts off to sleep. I sigh and pull her closer, resting my head against hers, closing my eyes.

I might be the luckiest bastard to ever walk the planet.

*A/N…so, to clear up…I'm not getting out of the smut-writing business. I find, even though it scared me at first and I thought it felt awkward, I enjoy writing it. I'm trying to write stuff I wouldn't ordinarily write so that I can be a better writer (and see how many times I can put the word "write" in to a sentence before it loses all meaning). That said, I want to be able to write stuff other than smut, or at least know that I can. But, since I wrote one like that today (not this one, obviously), I think I'll be okay. Also, one lovely reviewer—I can't remember who right now—said that I write erotica, not smut, and I thought that was kind of cool.

One more thing—I've been informed that you guys are talking about me via Twitter, so I've been stalking. Is that weird? Because I'm totally moved that you guys like my work so much.

might be the luckiest bastard to ever walk the planet.

I sigh and pull her closereneath me. I toss the condom then gather h


	7. Chapter 7

We're goofing around.

That's cool.

Goofing around.

That's totally what this feels like.

Just…goofing around.

The last few weeks haven't been the best time I've ever had. Not at all.

Chandler definitely isn't the greatest guy I've ever been with.

We don't have an amazing connection. We don't have great sex. I don't want to be around him all the time.

And he definitely isn't all that I think about.

Because that would mean we're doing more than goofing around.

I smack my hand against the nearest wall, frustrated. A moment later, pain radiates up my entire arm and my mouth drops open in pain. I shake my hand, now frustrated _and_ in pain.

Awesome.

I stomp down the hall—I need some sort of outlet for my irritation.

I feel a burning sensation behind my eyes and I bite my lip. I will not cry. I will not cry.

Oh, hell. I'm going to cry.

"Damn it," I mumble as my chest constricts painfully, looking around for a moment before spotting a bathroom. I hurry through the door and duck in to a stall just as a sob bubbles out of my mouth.

I lean back against the wall and wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to take deep, calming breaths even as my tears shake my body.

This is so stupid. Chandler and I have only been together for a few weeks. We haven't talked about being exclusive or even if we're more than just…

I can't even bring myself to think it. It seems like such a vulgar term for what we have. I mean, yeah, maybe we have spent the bulk of our time alone naked, but it's been anything than just mindless screwing. He's so sweet and attentive and wonderful…

Even though we haven't talked about it, I sure haven't been interested in seeing anyone else. I haven't gotten the impression that he was, either. There hasn't been a moment of our time together that's been put on hold because we decided to go on a date with someone else.

Of course, I realize with a start, we haven't exactly been on a date, either.

So I guess maybe we're not seeing each other—we might actually just be sleeping with each other.

My legs feel weak suddenly and I slide down the wall until I'm on the floor, arms wrapped around my knees.

Why the hell does this hurt so much? We haven't defined what we are at all. We've just been spending as much time together as possible; he doesn't even bother to drop off his briefcase when he gets home from work. He just runs in to find me and kisses me senseless.

You don't do that to someone you're just goofing around with, right?

If we were just goofing around, his body wouldn't be wrapped around mine every night. If we we're just goofing around, we wouldn't wait until the very last moment possible every morning to sneak out of bed.

Right?

But, hell, this is Chandler. He's so weird about these things. Maybe to him, these things aren't that important.

I wipe my face with the back of my hand, my tears mostly stopped but my heart still in pain. I don't want to be goofing around, though. Maybe we're not ready to be completely serious about each other, but I know I don't want to see anyone else right now. I don't want to go on a date with whoever this guy is that Rachel found.

I just want to be with Chandler.

I don't care if we ever go on a date; I just want Chandler.

Badly enough that I will sob on the floor of a public bathroom and not even care.

Though I think I'm lying to myself a little bit because I really do want to actually date Chandler. I don't know how we'd make that happen, but I sure as hell want to try.

A thought suddenly occurs to me—what if he doesn't think we're goofing around? What if he said that because he thinks that I want to date some other guy? Would he really step aside so I could do that?

I roll my eyes and nod to myself; of course he would. His self-confidence is low enough that he would do that instead of flat-out telling me that doesn't want me to see anyone else.

I guess there's a slight possibility that we need to learn how to communicate with each other a little better.

Of course, this is all speculation right now. I still don't know if he's interested in me long term or if we are just some sort of fling.

I shake my head—that's impossible. You don't have sex like we do when it's strictly casual.

Well, I don't, at any rate.

In fact, I've never had sex like this in my entire life. Though that's definitely because I've never known anyone like I've known Chandler, and have certainly never been with anyone who knows me the way he does. We have an actual connection that comes from years of friendship.

But that still doesn't mean we're doing anything more than goofing around.

I stand up, tired of this endless loop in my head. I exit the stall and run some paper towels under the cold water, then press them to my face. I check myself out in the mirror and shudder a little; my eyes are red and my face looks washed out. It'll be a few minutes before I can safely rejoin the rest of the world.

I take a few deep breaths; if we're goofing around, fine. I'll go on a date with this guy, even if the thought makes my stomach turn a little.

If we're not goofing around, maybe me dating someone else will force Chandler's hand a little. I already told him I'd planned to get out of this date, but he didn't take opportunity to let me know if that was what he wanted.

I sigh, fighting back tears again. I don't want to play games with him. I don't want our…whatever it is to be like that. I don't want to him to ask how high when I say "jump." I don't want to be Ross and Rachel with their constant power plays and making each other suffer for past mistakes. That doesn't seem worth it.

I look in the mirror again—I look mostly back to normal, but I still don't know what I'm going to do. I'm really, _really_ reluctant to talk to Chandler about this, only because I know how skittish he can be with relationships. And part of me just wants to piss him off and agree to go on this date.

I shake my head, tossing the paper towel in the trashcan before going back to the hall. Maybe I'll know what to do when I see him.

*A/N…so, if you try to follow the timeline as shown on Friends, things make no sense (how is Rachel a month pregnant in May 2001 and then gives birth when it's 100 degrees outside in 2002? How does Emma celebrate her first birthday in cold weather in season 10?), so I'm trying to do things in some sort of order. At any rate, I'm assuming Ross and Emily got married in Mayish, so there's this whole chunk of time that is sort of unaccounted for. Like, I'm fairly certain that between The One Hundredth and TWW Phoebe Hates PBS or TWW All The Kips there's a significant period of time where Chandler and Monica were probably building their relationship. Regardless, there's time in between, and I want to explore that. It just might not be all sex, but hopefully some real moments along the way. And now that I've rambled…


	8. Chapter 8

I steal a glance at Monica out of the corner of my eye; she's sprawled across an Adirondack chair, her eyes shut, the breeze coming off the ocean lifting her hair gently around her face, the fading sun dancing across her skin.

She looks pretty breathtaking right now.

The little bikini she's wearing doesn't hurt.

Not that that's the only thing that makes her beautiful; she just looks even more so when scantily clad.

Though that could be my libido talking.

"How's it feel to be able to stare unabashed at a woman in a bikini, knowing there will be no consequence?"

I blink in surprise. "Was I staring?"

"That, or you were perfecting your statue impersonation."

"Sorry," I tell her, shrugging, keeping my eyes on her.

"Not looking for an apology; just wondering if it was nice to be able to stare."

"It is, actually. Thanks for asking."

She turns her head and smiles up at me, my vantage point from the porch swing giving me a great view of the way her face lights up. Her arm reaches out and a finger strokes the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

"So." My voice cracks; I clear my throat, hoping for the best. "So, when do the fireworks start?"

She waggles her eyebrows at me and I feel a grin break out across my face. "Probably when we go to bed."

"Okay—what time do the _public_ fireworks start?"

"Oh, those. After sundown, so probably 9:30 or 10." Her finger moves so she's now running it up and down my cheek.

I glance nervously down to the beach. "What about Rachel?" I whisper frantically.

Monica's eyes follow mine to where our friend is standing, chatting with a some people she met today. "Relax. She's not paying attention to us. Even if she sees…I can't be affectionate to my friend?"

I decide not to argue with her and instead run my fingers down her outstretched arm, keeping an eye on Rachel. The finger that had been stroking my cheek turns into a whole hand; I turn my face and kiss her palm, causing Monica to smile even wider.

We almost managed to get away completely alone over the holiday—Monica's parents offered up their beach house for the Fourth, and most of our friends were occupied. Phoebe just gave birth a couple of weeks ago and has been spending a lot of time with Frank and Alice; Joey wanted to come but has rehearsals for his latest play. Ross was going to come along, but Monica told him flat out that if spent the entire time trying to contact Emily she would break both his phone and his arms, so he decided to stay in the city. Rachel was the only one we couldn't manage to put off, though she's been spending most of her time laying out, so Monica and I have been able to spend at least some quality time together.

"You know," she says, breaking the contact, but keeping her hand on the arm of the porch swing, "I've been looking through some old pictures lately, trying to find one of us—" I see her eyes grow wide and her mouth slams shut.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Seriously, Mon, what? You were looking through old pictures and…?"

She looks at me curiously. "That doesn't freak you out?"

If I were a cartoon character, I'd be scratching my head in confusion. "What doesn't freak me out?"

"Me looking for pictures of us?"

"Nooo…" I answer slowly. "Should it?"

She shrugs, turning her eyes away from me. "That just seems like the sort of thing that would bother you."

"I'd say we're definitely an 'us' by this point."

I can see her entire body relax at my words. "Okay."

"So, if you find a good picture of us, let me know. Maybe I can keep it on my desk at work."

Her head whips around to look at me. "What?"

"What what?"

"You want to keep a picture of us at work?"

"Can we get back to your story?"

"I think your story is more interesting?"

I sigh. "I don't think there's much else to my story, Mon. I just think having a picture of the two of us wouldn't be the worst thing. That's okay, right?"

"Of course! I just wasn't expecting it."

I can't entirely blame her for being shocked; I'm usually pretty skittish when it comes to relationship/commitment stuff. Still am, really, but every time I wake up next to her, I can't help but be stunned that she's there. Having a picture of her at my desk might make it all seem more real. Or distract me to no end. Regardless, I remain silent, waiting for her to continue her story.

Eventually, she does. "Right. So, looking through pictures. Anyway, there really aren't a whole lot that have just the two of us, but we do have a lot of group shots from over the years, and know what I realized?"

"What's that?"

"We're _ridiculously_ affectionate toward each other."

"How so?"

"Like, in every picture, we're together, usually with arms wrapped around each other, or sitting on each other's laps, hugging, holding hands, squished together on a couch, or even more often, squished together in chair. Just…always together."

I begin to see where she's going with this…and I like it. "So that means we can probably get away with a lot more couple-type stuff than we have been."

There's that smile that could light up the whole world. "Exactly! I mean, maybe we don't want to push it too much, but…"

"But…" I pick up where she left off. "If we wanted to sit on the same chair to watch the fireworks, no one would think anything of it."

"Right! Because that's how we've always been. I mean, I have pictures that show we've been like this since you first moved in to the building. It almost makes more sense for us to sit together than to sit apart."

"Sounds good to me!" I jump up from the porch swing and scoot down next to Monica on the Adirondack, draping my arm around her shoulders and looking out over the ocean. "When did the sun set?"

"Probably while we were having our awkward discussion about photographs."

I give her a little nudge and press a quick kiss to the side of her head. "That means the fireworks will start soon."

"You seem awfully excited about a little show," she teases.

"Forgive me for being excited about spending an evening on the beach with you. I thought it was romantic, but if you're just going to pick on me—"

I'm cut off when she presses her lips against mine. For a few moments, all worries about Rachel seeing us vanish from my head, and all that exists is this moment.

She pulls back from me suddenly and pulls herself out of the chair, and I realize I already miss her. "Where are you going?"

"I'm gonna go grab a blanket and the sangria."

"I'm all for the sangria, but the blanket? It _is_ July, you know."

"Well, even in July, the beach can get nippy at night. Besides," she leans over, bracing herself on the arm of the chair, giving a great view down the top of her bikini. "There are a few other things we could probably get away with if we have a blanket."

"You're so smart," I whisper, my throat suddenly dry.

"I know," she whispers back, kissing me quickly before heading in to the house.

I make sure she's out of sight before pulling off my t-shirt and tossing it over my shoulder; I want as much skin-to-skin contact as we can possibly manage. As I settle back in the chair, I try to think about all the times Monica and I have been maybe overly affectionate with each other and can come up with nothing. It's not that I don't believe her—it's more that being in constant contact with her is so natural that it's probably never been anything I've done consciously.

I jump as a blanket hits the back of my head, but she's gone before I can say anything. A few moments later, she reappears with the pitcher and a couple of glasses. She puts them down on the porch next to her before squeezing in beside me once more, my arm automatically going around her shoulders again as she pulls the blanket over our laps.

"So, I think I know what you're talking about. With the affection thing, I mean," I tell her.

She tilts her head up to me, waiting.

"Remember a couple of months ago—Joey and I were still in your apartment—but we were hanging out at your place. I can't remember why—ooh! Free porn! We had free porn!"

She pokes my side. "Focus, please. Why are you getting excited about free porn you used to have when you have a real live woman willing to get naked for you pretty much any time, night or day?"

I feel myself stir a bit—she has a point. Real naked woman is much better than the ones on TV. "Anyway, that's why we were at your place. It was you, me, and Joey, and the two of us were sitting together on your chair. Actually, we were laying on it. Joey never batted an eye, even though the entire couch was empty. Rachel and Pheebs didn't think anything about it, either. Neither did I until you brought it up, and I still don't know why I thought about that now."

"Uh…maybe it's because we're in the exact same position?"

I pause, considering. "I suppose you have a point."

She rolls her eyes and leans over to pour some sangria into the glasses before handing me one. "Here; drink your wine."

I wait until she has a glass in her hand before clinking them together. She smiles at me over the rim of the glass and I feel my body responding to her, to the look in her eyes. I take slow, careful sips and avoid eye contact for a few moments.

Monica sighs next to me. "I suppose we should invite Rachel to this little party."

I love Rachel, but I can't help but feel disappointed at the prospect of her joining us right now. "Yeah, I guess."

I watch as Monica plasters a genuine smile on her face and waves her hand over her head, not even a little ashamed as I watch, fascinated, as her breasts bounce in her bathing suit. It's like Baywatch in close-up. "Hey, Rache! Rache! Come on up here and watch the fireworks with us!"

I see Rachel glance at us for moment before turning back to her companions. A moment later, she comes plodding up the beach, smiling. "Hey! So, I know we're supposed to watch the fireworks together and believe me when I say I'm _super_ excited about that, but those guys said there's a big party going on a few houses down or so. Wouldn't you rather do that?"

I make a face at the suggestion, happy to see the same look on Monica's face. "Not really."

"What?! C'mon, you guys! Let's go have fun while we're still young! Doesn't a beach party sound great?"

I shake my head. "Not really," I answer, echoing Monica.

"Ugh! You guys are such an old married couple," she exclaims, and I see the corner of Monica's mouth twitch. "Well, I'm going." She stomps in to the house, both of us looking after her.

"Party's the other way, Rache," I call out, earning myself an evil glare as she sticks her head out the door.

"I know that, but I have to change first, don't I?"

I open my mouth to reply when I feel an elbow in my ribs. "Not worth it," Monica mumbles to me, so I close my mouth and tilt my glass toward Rachel.

She sighs in exasperation as the screen door bounces shut behind her. The two of us remain mostly quiet, though I'm feeling pretty giddy right now: Monica and I might get some time together this evening after all. And judging by the hand that stroking my upper thigh, I think I'm not the only one excited.

"Keep that up and Rachel will get to see a whole different sort of display," I warn softly.

She laughs quietly, her hands slowing but not stopping. "I'll take my chances."

"You disappoint me, Mon—I set you up with a great 'keep it up' joke and you just let it drop."

"I like to keep you guessing. Besides; that one seemed too obvious. I think you can do better."

"That hurts. That hurts a lot."

She laughs a little louder this time, then takes another sip of her sangria, and for a few moments, I've never wanted to be wine so badly in my life. "God, I want to make out with you."

She chokes for a second and sputters before regaining her composure. Before she can respond, Rachel comes bursting through the door. "You guys sure you don't want to come with me? Music, dancing, alcohol…"

We both hold up our glasses. "Alcohol part is covered," I answer, "and I'd be willing to bet it's better than whatever cheap beer and mixed drinks they'll have at the party."

She shakes her head at us. "Whatever. I'll see you old guys later."

"Have a swell time, sweetheart," Monica calls after her, and Rachel just shakes her head again.

We watch as Rachel walks down the beach, waiting until she's out of sight, then wait a few minutes longer before our lips find each others. I put my glass on the deck somewhere before wrapping my arms around her, groaning in to her mouth.

"I've missed you," she whispers, and even though we've spent almost the entire day together, I know exactly what she means. I haul her on to my lap and she jumps a bit when she feels my erection pushing up against her insistently, very ready for action.

"I missed you, too," I tell her, running my hands up her back to run through her hair. "So much."

She grinds herself against my lap, biting my lip. I grab her hips, keeping her in place as I rub myself against her for a few moments, watching her head fall back as she sighs happily.

"You want to?" I ask as I kiss my way across her chest.

"Out here?" she asks, digging her fingers in to my shoulders. "Where anyone could see?"

I feel disappointment spread throughout my body, even though I realize sex on the porch is probably a bad idea. "Yeah, I guess we shouldn't."

"Oh. It's a shame I brought this condom out, then," she answers, pulling a little foil packet out of the top of her bikini.

I grin as I grab her face. "You're the best," I exclaim before kissing her. Her arms wind around my neck, pulling me closer as my hands find the strings of her bathing suit. I give a little tug and it falls away from her chest. I reach up to find the one at her neck before she stills my hands. She pulls it over her head and drops it to the floor beside us.

"In case I need to pull it back on in a hurry," she explains.

"Fine by me," I tell her, my hands moving to grab her breasts, my mouth not far behind.

She moans and grabs my head, keeping my head in place as her hips thrust against mine, our bathing suits causing intense friction.

"We need to be naked NOW," she tells me, and I immediately grab the sides of her bikini bottom and tug down, helping her maneuver around my legs. My bottoms slide off much more easily and in a moment, she's rolling the condom on me, her hands somehow both firm and gentle. She lifts her hips and slides down on me, both of us gasping.

"It feels like it's been forever," I moan, holding her hips gently, helping guide her movements.

"I know," she groans back in answer. Truthfully, it's only been since last night, but it really does feel like much longer. "We should just have sex all the time."

"On it." I thrust my hips in to her faster, fueled by a desperate need to be closer to her. She moves quickly, her hand gripping my arms, her face buried in my neck, muffling herself.

She gasps suddenly. "I'm almost there, Chandler."

My movements speed up. "Jesus, me, too." My head falls back against the chair as I pant; I move my hands to her ass, picking up the pace.

"Need you," she gasps, her eyes closed, her face breathtaking as she gets closer and closer to the edge. "Need you." She falls forward, pressing her lips to mine, kissing me frantically.

I hear a noise overhead and crack an eye open; fireworks are exploding in the sky. "Fireworks, Mon."

"Uhhhhhhhhh," is her only reply.

"We're missing it," I tell her, slowing the pace slightly.

Her eyes fly open as she stares at me wildly, her chest heaving. "I can promise you we're not. Our own little show has fireworks, too. And I can promise you that my grand finale will be spectacular." She clenches herself around me and I moan in response, moving against her even faster now.

"God, Monica." I squeeze my hands around her, pulling her closer, as she moves on top of me.

"Right there, right there, rightthererightthererightthereOHHHHHHHHHH." And just like that, she's bucking wildly on top me, her arms wrapped around me, and I follow her gladly as I thrust in to her almost violently, surprised at the force of my orgasm, grunting wordlessly as it feels like it goes on forever.

Still moaning softly in to my ear, her hips gradually slow down. I stroke her sweaty hair and kiss her neck, pulling the blanket up over her naked back. Our heavy breathing is drowned out by the sound of fireworks over us, bright splashes of color lighting up the night.

"I should probably move," she says softly.

"Eh," I tell her, though I know it's true. She pulls her hips back and I groan as I slide out of her. I grimace as I remove the used condom. "Where should I…"

She leans over the arm of the chair, grabbing a grocery bag that's been doubling as a trash bag for the day from under the porch swing. I toss it in the bag, and she throws it back under the swing. She shifts around until her back is pressed against my chest, settling on to my lap. I wrap my arms around her chest and she places her arms on top of mine. She leans her head back against my shoulder and I lean my head against hers.

Our breathing is still evening out.

That was pretty damn intense. And fantastic. Definitely fantastic.

I kiss her temple, and she tilts her head back; I kiss her slowly, thoroughly, before coming up for air. I rearrange the blanket over our bodies and tighten my grip around her. She sighs happily and I echo the sentiment.

"I think the fireworks are just getting started," she says, looking up at the colors exploding in the sky, the look on her face radiant.

Did she ever just say a mouthful.

*A/N…well, that escalated quickly. I had no intention of adding a sex scene to this one, but damn it those two are horny! Also, completely accidental that this 4th of July stoty is being posted on July 4th.


	9. Chapter 9

My eyes open slowly, the dark shapes of Chandler's room coming in to focus, dim light peeking through the line in the door where Joey cut through years before. His deep breathing assures me that he's still deeply asleep. Gently, I slide my fingers through his, pulling his arms tighter around me.

I still have a hard time believing this is my life, that Chandler is becoming my life. That I get to fall asleep next to him, and wake up next to him, and have the most mind-blowing sex with him.

I never imagined my life would take this turn, but I'm so happy it did. It's only been just over two months, but I've never felt…happier. And happy seems like such a trite, inappropriate word, but I am.

Happiness with Chandler Bing…who knew?

I think he's pretty happy with me, too. At least if the almost constant smile on his face is any indication.

I move my head slowly and press a kiss to his arm. I should try to go back to sleep; it's probably only a matter of an hour or so before I have to sneak out of his apartment and go back to pretending we're just friends. I think we've been mostly successful in that respect so far; I know we've earned a few odd looks from our friends over the last several weeks, but none of them have managed to connect the dots yet.

I have no doubt that keeping all of this a secret has been an enormous help to us; I love our friends, but they can be overbearing, especially when it comes to the people we date. It can be incredibly difficult—keeping all of this to ourselves, to not be affectionate to each other all the time—but ultimately…it's for the best right now.

I jump when I feel lips on my shoulder. "Why're you awake?"

I shrug and smile, even though he can't see it. "Why are you?"

"Probably because you are."

I laugh quietly. "Yeah, right."

"Fine; don't believe me. Ignore my romantic sentiment."

"What? That you can't sleep if I'm not sleeping?"

"Exactly."

"You're so full of it."

He gasps in shock, pulling away from me, our arms untangling. "You don't think it's sweet that I can't sleep if you're not sleeping?"

I roll on to my back, reaching for him. "Sure, it's sweet. It's a lie, but it's sweet."

"That's rude," he tells me, settling back in to my arms. "You could at least pretend to believe my lies."

"Yes, dear," I answer, rolling my eyes.

"Oh, shut up," he says just before kissing me.

I feel myself getting lost in him, in his lips, his arms. His body starts to come alive, responding to me.

"Hey, what time is it?" I ask, my voice muffled by his mouth.

"Oh, yeah, baby, I love it when you talk dirty to me," he answers, shifting his body on to mine, and I laugh. "Now talk about deadlines and expiration dates." I laugh louder and he shushes me. "Joey is in the next room."

"Hey, man, you started it," I tell him, still giggling.

"You don't find me this funny when we're wearing clothes. Should I be worried?"

I chuckle, pulling his lips back to mine. "I guess it'll have to remain one of life's unanswered questions."

He pulls away suddenly. "Speaking of unanswered questions, it's almost five." With that, he rolls off of me, folding his hands behind his head.

I gape at him for a moment before poking his side. "You're just a tease."

"Hey, I put out!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. When it suits you," I answer, settling back down next to him, close but not touching.

"I'll put out right now, lady, don't push me."

"Promises, promises."

"You asked for it," he mock-growls, pinning me beneath him, his lips attacking my neck.

I bite my lip, willing my body not to react to him, enjoying the way we're messing with each other. It's no easy feat, though—his naked body pressed against mine tends to illicit all sorts of reactions, none of which cause me to remain stationary.

His mouth moves down to my breasts and I try to slide out from underneath him. "I really should get going."

His entire body tenses on top of mine, his fingers digging in to my arms. "Please tell me you're joking. Because I know we as a gender joke about it, but I could actually die if we stop right now."

"Blue balls and all?"

"So very, _very_ blue," he assures me, his voice cracking.

"Well, gosh, if I'm saving a life…" I say, using my best put-upon voice.

"You're a good woman, and you _will_ be rewarded." His lips find mine again, and I sigh in to him.

"But we don't have a lot of time," I remind him. "We have to make this quick."

"Yeah, I'll try," he tells me sarcastically.

I roll my eyes, pushing at his shoulder to get his attention. "Out of curiosity, what exactly is your definition of 'quick'? Or even your definition of 'a while'? Just so we're clear."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not exactly Quick Draw McGraw."

"I'm not?"

"Really? After all this time you still don't know how amazing you are?"

"I mean, well, you always seem pretty satisfied—"

"That's an understatement," I scoff.

"I guess I haven't really thought about it lately, you know? If you're good with what's happening…"

"Okay, Chandler—for future reference, 'quick' is something like five, ten minutes. We usually go for…well, it's longer than ten minutes. I'm not really in the mindset to keep track of time during. Please stop beating yourself up about it."

He leans down and kisses me for a moment. "You're good for my ego."

"Well, you're good for my orgasms."

I think I take him by surprise—he bursts out laughing. I slap my hand over his mouth, trying to silence him.

"You know," he mumbles around my hand. "All this jabbering isn't going to speed up the process."

I move my hand, reaching up to kiss him. "Then let's do this, soldier."

He reaches over to the nightstand for a condom, and a moment later, his hand starts moving around frantically. His body shifts off me almost completely as he digs through the drawer's contents. "Where'd they go?"

"Are we out?" I ask, desperation coloring my voice.

"Not possible. I just bought a new box two days ago. We have a lot of sex, but I don't think it's actually possible to have _that_ much sex in between fulltime jobs."

All of a sudden, he halfway disappears under the bed and I fight off another round of giggles. "Anything?"

He climbs off me completely and slides mostly under the bed; I peak over the edge. "Take your time. It's not like I'm naked or anything."

I hear a triumphant noise as Chandler scoots back out, box in hand. "What the hell did we do last night?"

I shrug, grabbing his hand to help him up. "Must've been pretty wild to knock stuff out of your nightstand. Anything else under there?"

"I can honestly say that I didn't notice; the things that will get me sex were a top priority. And as you'll remember, we're under a bit of a time-crunch, so…"

I tear the box out of his hand and pull out a condom, throwing the box over my shoulder. "Then please get over here."

He crawls on to the bed next to me, gesturing over my shoulder. "You know, we're going to have to go through this again tomorrow night."

"Whatever. That's tomorrow." I grab him by his shoulders and pull him to me, kissing him roughly. His arms go around me, his fingers clutching at my back.

"So," he asks me, punctuating ever few words with another kiss. "What's going to be the most efficient way to make this happen?"

I sigh in to his mouth. "Speaking of sexy-talk…"

"Well, I could call out sick, spend the day in bed with you."

I contemplate that for a few moments before shaking my head. "You just did that last week. And the week before, if memory serves. I don't want you to get in trouble for abusing the system."

"Fine, Miss Work Ethic, I'll go in today. But I won't enjoy it."

"I would never ask you to."

"So…"

"Surprise me, Chandler. Do what comes naturally. Give it to me good." Without warning, he grabs the backs of my thighs, pulling my knees out from under me, and we collapse on to the bed together, his mouth attacking mine. I moan happily, feeling his erection twitching against my thigh. I slide my hand down his chest, reaching for him, and suddenly he pulls away, standing up beside the bed. My chest heaves as I stare at him, confused.

"Condom," is all he says, so I hold it out for him, wondering where this is going. He rolls it on, then he pulls me to the edge of the mattress. Keeping his eyes on mine, he thrusts in to me suddenly and I grip the bedspread beneath me, a loud moan escaping my lips.

His hands hold on to my thighs as he drives in to me quickly, fluidly, and my toes actually curl. "Ohhhhhhhhh, yeah," I moan.

He lifts my hips off the bed a little, changing the angle, and I push in to him as hard as I can in response. "GOD!"

"Joey is still in the next room, you know," he reminds me, panting, not slowing his pace.

My hands come up to grip his wrists as my legs wrap around the back of his thighs. "Then don't be so good at this," I answer breathlessly, trying to pull him closer. He thrusts in to me quickly several times and another moan escapes me.

His hands leave my thighs, coming up to rest outside of my arms, bracing himself, most of his body now in contact with mine. "Ohhhh. Ohhhh. OHHHHHH CHANDLER." My hands grab for his hips, trying to make him move faster.

"Joey can probably hear this," he grunts. "What am I going to tell him when he asks about it later?"

"Tell him he dreamt it," I answer, my mind in a passion-induced fog. "Tell him you snuck a girl over. Tell him about us; I don't care, just DON'T STOP."

He leans forward and captures my lips with his, muffling the noises we've been making. I run a hand through his soft hair, scratching his scalp and making him shiver, the fingers of my other hand digging in to his hip. He pushes against me frantically and I can feel the pressure building in the pit of my stomach.

"Wait, wait, wait," I say suddenly, clamping my legs around him, stopping his movements.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his eyes wide and vaguely unfocused.

"Nothing," I gasp, stroking his hair. "I just don't want it to be over yet."

He breathes heavily through his nostrils. "I thought you wanted this quick."

I trace my finger down his face. "I know. I know. I just…" I hate when I can't figure out how to express what I feel when I'm with him. There's so much I want to say, but I have no idea how to say it, and it drives me nuts.

He saves me from myself by leaning down and kissing me tenderly, moving his hips slowly, and I feel my heart flutter. He gets me; he gets what I want to say, even when I can't say it. Just one of the reasons why I'm so crazy about him.

He moves slowly against me, and I'm almost startled to realize that my response to him this way right now is just as strong, that I feel like I'm already on the verge.

I screw my eyes shut, my heart feeling like a bird struggling against its cage, and I whimper into him.

"You okay down there?" he breathes, his arms gathering me close.

"Unhhhhh," is all I can say, biting my lip as my back arches in to him.

His hips continue their slow, agonizing pace, keeping me right there on the edge, just barely stopping me from tumbling over. I'm vaguely aware that I could move against him more, increase the speed, something, but this feels so extraordinary that I can't bring myself to end this.

His lips are on mine again, both of us gasping for air, our bodies glowing with a fine sheen of sweat. "Monica," he whispers. "God, Monica."

My name on his lips almost always does me in, especially when I'm this close, and this is no exception. My body starts to spasm, my hips pounding against him, muffling my yells against his mouth as best I can.

He drives in to me a few more times before I feel the muscles in his shoulders lock up beneath my hands, his body going still for a few seconds before he's pumping furiously, causing waves of pleasure to ripple through me until our bodies finally slow down.

Groggily, he climbs back in to bed, pulling me with him. "Damn it, but I love morning sex."

I hum in agreement, turning in to his side and wrapping my arm around him. "The only bad part is that we actually have to get up and be productive."

"Ugh, I _hate_ being a contributing member of society," he moans, then drags my body on top of his, kissing me lazily.

I relax in to him for a few minutes before pulling away reluctantly. "I don't think we can start this again."

He groans in disappointment and his head flops back against his pillow. "But I still want you so bad."

I feel my heart rate pick up at his words and I smile at him softly. "I know. I want you, too."

His hands come up and stroke my back, making me shudder. "Then let's take a shower."

I chuckle a little. "I think it'd be a touch more discreet to stay in bed, don't you?"

"Hey, you said it," he answers, dragging my lips back to his.

I sigh as he kisses me, sliding my body off his until my feet land on the floor. "I have to go," I say softly, caressing his cheek for a moment before I go to the pile of clothes on the floor.

"I wish you didn't have to."

My heart clenches. "I know," I tell him, finding my robe and pulling it over my now-chilly body. Every day, it's harder to leave each other. Every day, we drag it out just a little bit longer. "Hey, do you have any idea where the rest of my clothes are?"

"Yeah, because that's the part I pay attention to at night. Besides, as I recall, you weren't wearing much in the way of clothing when you came over."

I look up at him and grin, then sit next to him on the bed. "Well, I had on more than just a bathrobe; I remember that for certain."

He gives my hand a little tug and fall across his chest willingly, putting up no fight when he kisses me.

"Hey, do you think we could talk a little tonight?"

I pull back, my brow furrowed in confusion. "Sure. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just…" he shifts uncomfortably. "I just want to talk to you about some stuff."

"Well, now I'm intrigued." I trace random patterns on his chest. "What kind of stuff?"

"It can wait."

"Doesn't have to. I have a few minutes."

He's silent for a few moments. "Hey, did you happen to see my robe down there?"

I know he's stalling, and now I feel nervousness blooming in the pit of my stomach. Still, I lean down to retrieve his clothes, and wait quietly while stands, pulling on the garment.

"Okay…so…I'm kind of freaking out a little now. Are you sure everything's all right?"

"Look, it's not that big of a deal; we've just never talked about it, so…"

I look at him expectantly. "So…."

He comes to stand in front of me, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I'm probably making this sound a lot more serious than it ought to be. But, okay, the thing is…" He shifts from foot to foot, and if I weren't so worried about what it was he was trying to say, I'd have to laugh at his discomfort. "The last couple of months have been great. Better than great, actually. And I know that I have absolutely no interest in seeing anyone but you, so I was wondering if it'd be okay if I asked you not to see anyone else, either."

His words come out in such a rush that it takes me a few moments to process them. I feel a smile start to spread across my face. "Did you…just ask me to go steady?"

"Well, I didn't put it like that _exactly_…"

I feel excitement spreading. "But you want us to be exclusive? Only each other?" He nods, still shifting from foot to foot, his hands buried in his pockets. I jump up and wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him. "Oh, my God, of course!"

I can feel the tension drain out of his body as his arms slide around my waist. "Really? It's not too soon, is it? Because I've been thinking about it, and I can't stand the thought of seeing you go out with someone else, but you're so wonderful that any guy would be an _idiot_ to not want to date you, and—"

I kiss him again, silencing him. Apparently, Chandler rambles when he's really nervous. I can't believe how cute it is to see him this anxious about being the only one to date me. "Chandler," I say when I finally come up for air. "There is no one else I want to be with. I promise you." He grins, pressing his forehead to mine. "You're the only one," I whisper, my eyes closing as I sigh happily.

We stand that way for a few minutes, wrapped in each other's arms, the dawn starting to peek through the windows. "Well, now that that's out of the way," Chandler says. "I guess the only thing on the menu for tonight is sex."

"Sounds good to me." I look over his shoulder and groan softly. "But it's now almost six, and Rachel will be getting up soon. I really have to get back."

"I'll walk you." He takes my hand and leads me across the dark living room to his front door, pausing to wrap me in his arms again, kissing me softly. My heart feels lighter than it has in weeks—I hadn't realized that I was waiting for this, hoping for this, at least not to this extent. But now…I'm so happy I feel like I could float off the ground.

"So, I'll see you for breakfast in about an hour?" I ask, reluctant to let him go.

"I'll be the one with the huge smile on my face," he promises, grin already present.

I pull away from him slowly and he opens the door for me. I slip across the hall to my door, for a moment feeling like a couple of college kids sneaking around our dorms. He's still looking at me as my door quietly clicks shut, and I press my back against the door for a moment, smile uncontainable. I'm pretty sure we've just taken a huge step in our relationship, and it feels great.

I hear Rachel's alarm go off in her room, snapping me out of my reverie. Even though I know she hits the snooze button several times, I hustle across the apartment and into my bedroom.

Happy is definitely not a good enough word for what I'm feeling.


	10. Chapter 10

My hands cradle Monica's head as she writhes on top of me, moaning in to my mouth. I could listen to her make these noises all day; she's on the verge of orgasm and words have escaped her, leaving her only with high-pitched noises of satisfaction.

I thrust myself into her, trying to prolong the sensation. Her thighs grip at my sides as she moves quickly over me, and I feel myself tingling in response. I slide one hand down her side and over her hip, holding on to her leg.

Nothing in my life has ever felt better than being with her. Nothing has ever been this intense, either. No other woman has ever made my head spin the way she does, or made my heart so full that it feels like it could burst at any point. And I can certainly say I've never enjoyed sex this much in my entire life.

Her hips slam in to mine, her pelvis grinding against me a little each time. Her arms wrap around me, fingernails digging in to my shoulders. I know I'll be right behind her.

Suddenly, she tears her lips away, her head falling back a little as her mouth drops open. Soft noises escape as she struggles to be quiet, mindful of Rachel in the next room. As a result of holding back vocally, her body responds by slamming against me furiously, almost painfully, as she finds her release. She finally buries her face in my neck, releasing a few mostly-soft wails, ones that couldn't be contained.

It's all I need to feel my control slip; I grab her hips and pound in to her, struggling to remain silent myself. It's not easy—sex this good wasn't meant to be quiet. I feel myself groan anyway, unable to completely contain myself as my hips start to slow. We lay there for a while, gently thrusting against each other, the aftershocks of what we just did filtering through us, breathing heavily in to each other's ears.

She lifts her head and gazes down at me, her pupils dilated, her lips swollen from kissing me. I stroke my thumb against her cheek. "Jesus Christ, you're sexy."

She smiles at me—a smile that says she owns me and she knows it—before pressing her lips to mine, kissing me slowly, deeply.

Finally, she slides off of me and lays next to me, pushing her hair away from her face, her expression dreamy. I reach down and pull the sheet over us, then wrap my arms around her, kissing her shoulder.

She can own me if she likes. I have no problem with being a kept man, with no other purpose in life but to do her bidding.

"You think I'm sexy?" she asks quietly. I look at her incredulously for a moment before I realize she's teasing me.

"Stop fishing for compliments, woman."

"It's always nice to hear, that's all."

I kiss across her collarbone, making my way slowly up her neck until I reach her lips, kissing her for a few moments. "Yes; I think you're sexy. I think you're hot, and beautiful, and stunning—"

"Careful," she warns. "My ego can't take an influx like that. I won't be responsible for the consequences."

"I'll take my chances." I lean up and kiss her again. My hand slides down her stomach and comes to rest on her hip, and she turns in to me, throwing her leg over mine.

Our kisses gradually slow down until we're just wrapped in each other's arms, smiling at each other contentedly. "Know what?" she asks softly.

"What's that?"

"I really like kissing you."

The way my heart jumps when she says those words is a reminder that this is so much more than just sex. What we have together is really like nothing else I've ever known. "I really like kissing you, too."

She tucks her head under my chin, her body relaxed against mine, though I can tell by the way she's breathing that she's still awake.

"So…you mind if I ask you something?"

"Not at all," she answers, her voice a little muffled by her face pressed into my neck.

"It's kind of personal."

At that, she pulls back from me far enough so that she can look me in the eye, her expression quizzical. I feel my pulse quicken, a little surprised that I'm bold enough to even ask. "Okay."

"And you can totally say no if you want, but just hear me out first."

"Should I be worried?"

"I don't think so."

She remains silent, waiting for me to continue.

I clear my throat. "Before we got together, you said you were in a bit of a dry-spell, right?"

She nods slowly, but says nothing.

"I'm guessing that, in the meantime, you had some…other 'methods'?"

"'Methods?'"

"You know…" It's pretty interesting how uncomfortable some conversations can be, even when you've spent the better part of three months naked with someone. "Like, a battery-operated boyfriend?"

She blinks at me in confusion for a few moments until I see understanding dawn in her eyes and a blush start to spread across her cheeks. "Uh…"

"I'm not asking to judge," I hurry to reassure. "Believe me; I'm not judging. I'm just curious."

Her body tenses beneath my hands and she tilts her head down, avoiding eye contact. "I…well…yeah."

I feel a surge of relief—if she's willing to answer me, I haven't completely overstepped by bounds. Then I realize what she just told me and feel another sort of surge; it's pretty hot, after all.

"Well, that brings me to the really personal part, and remember—feel free to shoot me down."

She's still avoiding my eyes, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, but she nods her head, telling me to continue.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "Would you show me?"

Her head flies up, her eyes opening wide, her body pulling back from me a bit. "Excuse me?"

"Would you…do it for me? Sometime? Maybe?"

Her eyes blink rapidly, her cheeks turning a darker red. "You want me to get off in front of you?"

I nod enthusiastically, trying to encourage her. "Yes! That's what I'm asking."

"Why?"

I shrug, not sure how I'm really going to explain myself. "Well, curiosity, for one. I'd kind of like to know what you do to yourself to cause pleasure, maybe pick up a few tips."

"If I'm not mistaken, you haven't really needed any help in that area."

"Still—couldn't hurt to keep learning. Make it better."

Her eyes close for a moment and I wait, really unsure of what she's thinking right now. "What's the other reason?"

"I just can't think of anything much hotter than watching you do that to yourself."

"Really?"

"Really. I don't know; maybe it's a guy thing. We're usually very visual, hence why porn is so popular."

"Don't you think it'd be a little…awkward?"

"Only if we let it be."

She's quiet for a few moments and I hold my breath—I can't believe that she might be considering it. "It's just that, I haven't had to do _that_ since _we_ started. I haven't even thought about it."

I smile at her softly, reaching out a hand to stroke her cheek. "Hey, I'm honored that being with me makes you forget about master—"

"Don't say it," she exclaims. "I know; it's natural, it's nothing to be ashamed of, but I can't think of a less-sexy word for it. It's just so clinical."

I hold up my hands in surrender. "That's fine. I won't say it. But it's still pretty cool that you haven't felt the need to fly solo since we started seeing each other."

"'Fly solo.' I can handle that, or any other adolescent euphemisms we can come up with."

"Fair enough." We fall silent again; her cheeks are still pink, but she doesn't look upset with me, which I take as a good sign. "Like I said, Monica, all I wanted to know was if it was something you'd consider maybe doing at some point. No pressure, no judgment, just something for the two of us to share."

She's silent for a bit longer. "You really think it's hot?"

"God, yes."

"Why?"

It seems I should have prepared for this better; I just never expected to get this far in this conversation. "I don't have a good answer for that."

"I don't need a good answer; I just want to know your reasons."

"Well, I guess if you could see your face while we're having sex, you'd understand. You're just so…wow. And this is something that is ridiculously intimate, and to be able to share that with you, to have you put that sort of trust in me…it's a major turn on. _But_, if you don't want to, don't think that I don't think you don't trust me, because that's not what this is about. It's a different sort of trust. What I'm asking from you is really personal, and you don't have to be comfortable with it. I promise that I won't be offended."

"I've never done that in front of someone before."

"If it makes you feel any better, I've never asked anyone before."

She's quiet again, so I keep still, not wanting to push her. A few minutes later, still silent, she sits up, pulling a throw around her body, then stands. I close my eyes, mentally berating myself. I don't know what possessed me to ask; of course I freaked her out. I open my eyes and see that, instead of leaving or getting dressed, she's moving over to her dresser and pulling out a drawer.

For whatever reason, at that moment I realize I'm still wearing the condom from earlier and grimace. I make sure she's not watching while I snatch a tissue off the nightstand and dispose of the offending article, rolling my eyes at myself as I realize if I'm still having issues with condoms, how fair is it to ask her to do this for me?

She turns to face me, a clear plastic shoe box in hand. She takes the few steps over to me and sits down again, placing the box between us.

"What's this?" I ask as I sit up.

Still avoiding eye contact, she says, "Open it."

I feel my heart start to race, and I'm almost reluctant now, hard to believe this could be happening. I move my hand to the lid and pop it off. Inside is some soft material I can't identify; I go to move it out of the way, but look up at Monica first. Her face is buried in her hands. I sigh and put a hand on her shoulder, causing her to jump. "I'm serious—you don't have to do this. Especially if it's stressing you out this much."

She moves her hands and really looks at me for the first time since I started this conversation. "No. I trust you, Chandler. With everything. If you want this, then I want this. It's just going to be a little difficult for me at first. I don't want it to be embarrassing, though; everything we've done together has been wonderful and amazing and beautiful, and this could be, too."

I lean over and kiss her softly and, thankfully, she responds to me. "Thank you." I look down at the box between us. "What am I going to find in here?"

The corner of her mouth lifts in a smirk and I feel relief. "The battery-operated boyfriends."

"More than one? Wow—should I be intimidated?"

She leans in to me, breathing in my ear. "Nothing compares to real life."

I feel shivers shoot down my spine. "I'll keep that in mind." I gulp, moving the material, and try not to react to what's underneath. A small variety is in front of me, in varying sizes and colors. "So, uh…which is your favorite?"

Her hand slides down my stomach suddenly, resting on my only-partially limp member. "I think you know which one is my favorite," she whispers just before attacking my lips. I let her do what she needs to do for a few minutes; I know she's being aggressive to hide her embarrassment, and I'm okay with it. When she releases my lips, she presses her forehead against mine, her hand moving up to my shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"No judgment," I remind her. "I mean it."

She wraps her arms around me, the blanket she used earlier finally coming loose. I hold her tight, waiting; waiting to see which direction she'll take. Eventually, she sits back on her heels and points in to the box, avoiding my eyes. "That one."

I follow her finger and give the device a nudge. "Ah. My competition."

Her head comes up as she chuckles, surprised. "Not even close," she assures me.

I grin at her. "So, why is it your favorite?"

"It's waterproof," she answers immediately. "And it vibrates. Plus, it's about as close to anatomically correct as one of these can get, at least without breaking the bank."

Now she has my attention. "These things can get expensive?"

She nods sagely. "Over a hundred dollars for a good one."

"Geez," I breathe. "Self-love really does come at a price."

She smacks my shoulder and I shut my mouth. I gently pick up the device, feeling a little awkward holding it. She grabs the box and puts it on the nightstand, settling back next to me. "I don't even know if the batteries are still good."

I give the knob at the bottom a little twist and drop it to the bed as it hums to life. She snickers at me, but says nothing.

"How do you…I mean, what do you…" I pause, trying to gather my thoughts. I really didn't expect this to happen, especially not tonight. "When you use this…do you fantasize?"

"Sometimes. Sometimes it's not about a fantasy, though; it's about release. But I'm sure you know that."

"Who do you fantasize about?"

"You really want me to answer a question like that?"

I pause for a moment, considering. "No. How about this; have you ever fantasized about me?"

Her face lights up in a smile. "I have."

I swear my heart stops for a moment. "Really?"

"Once or twice. It was nothing compared to reality, though."

I lean over and kiss her, only to be interrupted by the device's happy buzzing between us. I give it a nudge again, and she finally takes it in hand, picking it up. She looks at me out the corner of her eye, her cheeks pink again.

"How do you…get started?"

She slides down on the bed until she's on her back. I prop myself up on my elbow next to her, waiting.

"So, before we start this…when you said you want to watch, did you mean, like, sit at my feet and _watch_?"

"That's kinda what I was picturing, yeah."

I see her swallow heavily. "I don't know if I'm ready for that," she whispers.

"That's okay."

"But…could you lie next to me?"

Without hesitation, I put my head next to hers on the pillow, my hand coming to rest on her stomach, the muscles twitching beneath me. "What do you need me to do?"

"Kiss me," she breathes. I gently place my lips on hers and she kisses me back hungrily, eagerly, her free hand gripping my arm. My hand slides up her body, and she whimpers as I graze her breasts before cupping her cheek. I'll give her this as long as she needs.

She moans softly in to my mouth and I kiss her harder for a few moments before kissing my way down her neck, breathing in her scent.

I'm so wrapped up in her that it takes me a while to notice that I can feel her hips moving against me. Cautiously, I look down and see that she has the vibrator between her thighs, moving it slowly back and forth. Instantly, I feel all of the blood rush out of my head and go south. Just this one glimpse is more of a turn on than I ever imagined. I do my best to keep my breathing steady, not wanting to make her self-conscious. Her hand still grips my arm, but her fingers are kneading my skin in time with her other hand.

I'm completely fascinated; this is unbelievably erotic. Without my noticing, my hand has slid down to her breasts, squeezing them rhythmically. I lean down and take one my mouth, keeping my eyes directed south. Her hips lift off the bed, the vibrator disappearing in to her, and for a moment, I'm completely jealous of an inanimate object. She moans as the humming becomes muffled, and I swear I start to salivate.

My lips release her breast and I push my forehead against her shoulder, captivated. The amount of trust she's putting in me right now is tremendous.

I notice she still looks tense—her brow is furrowed, her eyes screwed shut—so I lean up to whisper in her ear. "You're the one in control, Monica." Her head turns to me, her eyes opening a little, confused. "All I did was ask; everything else is all you. You're in charge of everything happening. Everything."

I see a glint form in her eyes, and I know I've said the right thing. Anyone who spends five minutes with Monica knows that she has control issues, especially when it comes to relinquishing it. It's not surprising that she thought this would be about giving up something, but it really isn't. She _does_ own me, and if there's anyone in charge of tonight, it's most definitely her.

Her free hand releases my arm and takes over where my mouth left off, moaning louder now. She's biting her lip as she moves the device in and out, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, her hips rolling gently against the mattress.

Carefully, I slide away from her, slowly scooting myself down the bed. She cracks an eye open at me, and I pause, waiting for permission. She gives me a slight nod as another low, "ohhhhhhh" leaves her lips.

I kneel between her feet and watch, captivated. The hand that's been paying attention to her breasts slides slowly up to her hair, where I can see her fingers flex and release, the hand controlling the vibrator moving it steadily in and out, in and out, and once again, I'm jealous of this toy.

"God, Monica," I groan, my hands itching to touch her, to hold on to her in some way.

"This how you imagined it?" she asks, her voice pitched low.

"So much better," I whisper, my throat dry. "Can I touch you?"

Her body spasms for a moment at my question, her soft moan answer enough. I slide my hands gently up her calf muscles, up to her knees, down to her thighs and back again, pulling her just a little closer to me, my body straining toward her, crying out for her.

She pauses for only a second, turning up the dial on the device before her movements continue, faster now. I lean forward and press a kiss to her knee, desperate for the contact. Her body jerks again. "Oh, Chandler," she breathes, and I think my head is going to explode.

"What, baby?" I whisper, watching her body vibrate faster.

"Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

I don't know that I've ever been this hard in my entire life. I can't believe she's doing this for me, letting me see it; it's a heady sensation.

I see her eyes are open slightly, watching me, her chest heaving as her breath comes in short gasps. The angle of her hips and the position of her hand are extraordinarily provocative, everything positioned perfectly so I can see. "Wait a second…are you showing off now?"

She grins at me lazily; the flush now snaking down her chest has nothing to do with embarrassment. She lifts her hips off the bed a little, moaning.

"You are! You're showing off!" I'm completely stunned; I didn't know if I'd ever be able to convince her this was okay. She went from being embarrassed by just the thought of me watching, to willingly giving me more of a show than I ever anticipated. Power does very interesting things to this woman.

I honestly don't know if I can take this; this whole experience is so much more than I bargained for. My hands flex against her legs, my arms tense as I try to hold myself back. "I need you so much," I tell her, the words falling out of my mouth without thinking.

In an instant, she pulls out the vibrator and tosses it on the bed next to her. She grabs my arms and hauls herself on to my lap and slides down on me, both of us groaning. She moves against me quickly, rocking back and forth as she kisses me fiercely.

Suddenly, my eyes fly open and I grab her hips, stilling her movements. "Condom," I breathe as I fight for control, and her eyes grow wide.

"Oh, God," she whispers as we stare at each other in wide-eyed shock, neither of us daring to move. Almost three months and this is the first time we've ever forgotten a condom. I feel my heart start to race as she looks at me nervously. "What should we do?"

I have no idea; it's taking everything in me to hold still right now. Despite the panic I know we're both feeling, I'm still so incredibly turned on that I can't think very clearly. All the blood usually designated for my brain has relocated and all I want is sex. I feel her inner muscles clench around me and my body starts to shake. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. "Ohhhhh, don't do that," I moan.

She clutches me tightly, burying her face in my shoulder. "Sorry."

We gasp in air, neither of us saying anything, trying to form cohesive thoughts. "Is this a good idea?" I finally ask.

"Probably not," she answers. I can hear her softly counting under her breath, her fingers tapping along against my back. "Oh, definitely not."

I grit my teeth as she shifts slightly, my fingers digging in to her hips. "We should probably get a condom."

"I don't think I can move," she tells me. "I'm so close right now."

I feel my body start to shake, causing her to moan. "Oh, my God."

Using every ounce of strength I have, I pull myself out of her body. She whimpers at the loss of contact, and I still feel like I'm about to lose it. She twists around for a moment, reaching over to her nightstand for the box of condoms, bringing it back with her. I watch her hands shake as she opens the foil. I want to reassure her, to calm her down, but I know that I wouldn't be of much assistance in that department.

All of a sudden, she groans in frustration. "What?" I ask, feeling frantic.

"I tore it," she growls, throwing it in the general direction of the trashcan. I would laugh if the situation didn't feel so desperate at the moment. Instead, I wait as patiently as possible as she grabs another, opening It more gently this time. She reaches out to put it on me and I grab her hand, taking it from her.

"If you touch me right now, I will literally explode," I explain, rolling it on. She barely waits for me to finish before she impales herself on me again, moaning loudly. In the back of my mind, I know I should remind her to be quiet, remind her that Rachel is right next door, but I just can't bring myself to care. I grab her hips and guide her movements, grunting through gritted teeth every time she slams against me. It's only a matter of moments before she's moving against me urgently, her nails clawing at my back, a chorus of, "Oh God, oh God, oh God," falling from her lips. I look up into her face, and it's my undoing. I thrust into her quickly, sloppily, groaning as I watch her. Her face contorts almost into a look of pain as a yell tears out of her mouth, long and wordless, as her body unwinds around me.

I hold on to her for as long as I can until I feel my body collapse, and we fall back against the pillows. Our heavy breathing and soft residual moans fill the now quiet room. I feel completely drained in the best way possible.

I hear a low humming sound, then Monica's groping around behind her on the bed. As the noise stops I realize that the vibrator had been buzzing away all this time, completely forgotten.

"That was…intense," she says softly, still trying to even out her breathing.

I nod against her hair, wrapping my arms more tightly around her. "Yeah," is all I can manage to say.

"Turns out that a little bit of exhibitionism is fun."

I feel a grin spreading across my face. "I agree. You almost killed me, but it was _so_ worth it."

We're silent for a while, still collecting ourselves; a lot happened in a very short amount of time. "I'm going to have to get up and wash that thing," she finally says, and I can't help but chuckle—it's such a Monica thing to say, to think.

"If you think you can walk right now, by all means," I tell her. "I think I'm going to be stuck right here for a while."

I feel her shift around a bit, and I think she's trying to get herself into a sitting position, until she goes still once more. "Yeah, it can wait." Her hand sweeps across the bed, knocking it to the floor, not caring where it lands, and that's when I know I've done something very right tonight. When Monica doesn't care about things out of order, when her first thought isn't to organize something, I know it was good all the way around. "Just don't forget to throw away the condom," she mumbles as she turns in my arms, her back now against my front.

I groan, this time because it requires move physical activity than I think I'm capable of right now. Still, I manage to shift my hips away from her long enough to throw away our second condom of the night—another good sign in my book.

"Is the alarm set?" I ask as I settle back next to her, grabbing a pile of blankets and covering us over.

She cranes her neck up for a moment. "Yeah; I think it's supposed to go off around five. That okay?"

I shrug, lacing my fingers through hers. Placing a kiss on her shoulder, I say, "Okay as it can be."

She squeezes my fingers, understanding exactly what I mean.

"Hey," I whisper.

"Hmmm?"

"Thank you for tonight."

Her head tilts back to mine; her eyebrow is raised and the corner of her mouth is quirked up in a smile. "My pleasure."

"Leave the bad puns to me, babe," I tell her and she chuckles. I give her a quick kiss before she settles down next to me again, her breathing evening out within minutes, her body relaxing against mine.

I feel sleep pulling at me, too, and as I tighten my arms around her once more I can't help but be amazed at how lucky I am; most guys are never fortunate enough to have their actual best friend turn into their girlfriend. And no one else is lucky enough to have Monica.

*A/N…so, there it is, what you wonderful pervy pervs have been asking for. Don't know if it's exactly what you're looking for, but I had to find some way to make it believable to me, and believable to what the characters are to me. As far as timeline goes…hell, let's put this the night before Rachel walks in on Monica in whatever position it was while she was waiting for Chandler. Wouldn't a night like this be a good catalyst for Monica to tell Rachel that her secret boyfriend was the best sex she's ever had?


	11. Chapter 11

I carefully shut the door behind me, making as little noise as possible, the tiny "click" of the door latch sounding like an explosion to my paranoid ears. I turn to face the bed and Chandler's sitting there, smiling at me.

"Hey, Gorgeous."

I feel my heart flutter as a smile breaks out over my face; his eyes light up when they see me, and it does things to me that no one else has ever been able to accomplish, things I can't really even describe.

"Hey," I answer softly. I take a couple of steps over to the edge of the bed and he pops up on his knees, reaching for me. My arms go around him as he kisses me softly, and I melt like butter. "I missed you today." It seems ridiculous; I woke up with him this morning, saw him at breakfast, saw him after work, ate dinner with him, and he only left my apartment a couple of hours ago, but for most of that, I had to keep my hands off of him.

"I missed you, too," he answers, his arms tightening around my waist, his lips finding mine once more. I lean in to him, my hands slowly stroking up and down his bare back, skimming the waistband of his boxer shorts.

"I like when you're mostly naked," I tell him with a smile. "Saves me some work. It's almost as good as when you're completely naked."

"Speaking of naked," he says, his hands sliding around to the front of my robe, giving the sash a little tug. The robe falls open and he slides it off my shoulders, revealing a flimsy piece of lingerie beneath it. His breath catches in his throat. "Oh, Monica."

"I've been doing some shopping," I tell him.

"Money well spent," he assures me, his fingers softly tracing up and down my sides, making me shiver. He pulls at me a little and I climb on to bed with him, our lips finding each other once more. Slowly, we sink down onto the mattress, pressing our bodies close together, our arms wrapped tightly around one another.

Despite having missed each other all day, our actions aren't frantic; maybe it's because I'm over earlier than usual and we have a bit more time, but we're just enjoying each other.

"Oh, yeah. I went to the doctor today," I tell Chandler in between kisses.

He pulls back a few inches, his brow furrowed. "Everything all right?" he asks, and I can hear the concern at the edge of his question. I smile; it's sweet that he cares.

"Just my lady doctor," I reassure.

"Again I ask…"

I lean up and kiss his cheek. "It was only a checkup."

"Oh." He pauses, and his face screw s up in concentration. "I thought that wasn't for another few months."

I smack his chest. "Would you stop that? It's creepy that you guys know those things about us."

He grins and grabs my hand, linking our fingers together. "I know things because I care, okay?"

"You know things because you're creepy."

"You're still bitter because Joey and I know you and Rachel better than you know us. But anyway," he continues before I can argue with him. "Why did you go to the doctor so early?"

"Well, as it happens, my sex life has changed drastically recently, so I thought it'd be a good idea to go and get everything checked out."

"And..."

"All is well, thank you very much. But, I do have a surprise for you."

He grimaces. "I don't even want to imagine what sort of surprise you could bring me from that office."

"Fine," I tell him as I pull away, mock-pouting. "Nothing for you, then."

"Aw, c'mon Monica." He wraps his arm around me, pulling me back to him, stroking my cheek. "I didn't mean anything by it." He pulls my face to his, kissing me gently.

I moan softly, smiling against his lips. "I don't think this surprise is going to live up to your expectations now."

"Try me."

"I decided to go on the pill." I take a deep breath, wondering how he'll take this. Will he see it as too forward? Should I have talked to him about this first?

"Ooooookay," he says slowly, looking confused.

I look at him expectantly.

"You lost me."

"It means that, if we want, we won't have to use condoms all the time."

His eyes actually light up. "Really? I've never had sex without a condom. Well, I mean, aside from that one time we kind of almost did."

"Neither have I. I kinda want to try it, though. I mean, if it's with you."

"Well, let's get started!" He pulls me to him, kissing me passionately, rolling on top of me.

"Whoa, big fella! That's not how it works."

"Is there a secret password or something?"

I roll my eyes, laughing. "I just took the first one today. The doctor says to wait for one p…." My eyes grow wide and my mouth clamps shut. This is really something we don't really talk about.

"One what?"

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head vigorously. "We'll just have to wait a month or so."

He smiles and kisses my forehead. "Monica—were you going to say 'period'?"

I cringe, feeling my face grow warm. I can't find my voice, so I just nod.

"You know, as it happens, I've been really good friends with a group of girls for some time now. I've been listening to all of you talking about this stuff forever. I'm actually not that uncomfortable with it."

"Really?"

"Mon, I've seen every single inch of you up close and personal the last few months. In fact, the only nights you've avoided me have been when you made up some lame excuse or picked a fight so you would think that I wouldn't know you were on your period."

"You knew what I was doing?!" I feel my face turning even darker red.

"Well, it seemed to matter to you, so I went along with it."

"I just thought that you'd think…" My voice trails off, not really sure what I thought he'd think, other than I just assumed he'd be pretty turned off.

"I just want to spend time with you. I don't mind spending the night with you without sex. It doesn't bother me to have sex when you're on your period. And if you feel better without me around then, that's fine, too. It's your body, Monica—you know best what you do and don't need."

I reach up and stroke his cheek, even though I still feel a little embarrassed by the whole conversation. "How'd you get to be so sweet?"

"I told you." He leans down and kisses me for a moment. "I've been around a bunch of girls for years. I've become pretty immune to all that girly stuff by now."

"Really?" I ask, doubtfully. "I've seen you get pretty grossed out when Rachel and Phoebe and I talk about our stuff."

"Nah, that's just so I don't get my man card revoked."

"Well, just for future reference, when it comes down to it, a guy who's comfortable with a woman's body and all that comes along with it goes a lot farther than a man card. At least when it comes to your girlfriend."

"Noted," he assures me, pulling my lips to his once more. I sigh in to his mouth, running my hand through his hair. "So." He shifts on top of me, his lips nipping at my neck. "A month, huh?"

"Give or take a few days." My heart starts to hammer, suddenly nervous. "Unless…I mean, maybe…did you want to try it now?"

He lifts his head from my neck, eyes growing wide. "What?"

I can't believe I'm even suggesting this. "We could try sex…without the…condoms…you know, now. If you want. I mean, we could. Or not."

"Monica…you don't have to do this."

"Do you not want to?"

He presses his forehead against mine. "When we're both ready, it'll happen. There's no rush. You're letting me have sex with you—that's pretty good in my book. I like to think I'm not one of those guys who pressures his girlfriend in to—"

"You've never pressured me in to anything," I assure him.

"Then why would you feel that it's something we have to do now?"

I shrug, feeling horribly insecure and self-conscious all of a sudden. "I don't know. I just…I really don't know."

"Look, I'm sure you've heard a lot of guys over the years—boyfriends or not—complain about having to wear condoms; those guys are idiots. And the girls that give in to them aren't that much better. I've never had unprotected sex, and I'm okay with that. If my options are to wear a condom or not get any…I'll wear the condom. I'll wear five of them. The fact that you want to go on the pill…that you want to do this with _me…_it's pretty incredible. But I don't feel like we need to rush it, you know?"

"Seriously—why are you so great?"

"I'm with a great girl," he says simply, then kisses me softly. I run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, and sigh. This guy is pretty amazing.

"So, here's a question for you," he says suddenly, and I have to blink a few times to get back to the present.

"What's that?"

"Why haven't you been on the pill before? I mean, if it's easier than worrying about condoms…"

I shrug, tracing circles on his chest. "I _was_ on it in college for a while, but it didn't always agree with me; it made me gain weight, and there's the potential for odd health risks, so I figured it wasn't worth it."

Now he looks terribly confused. "Then why do it now? It doesn't sound like the safest method."

"There have been _some_ advances in medicine in the last few years," I assure him. "There's a wider variety out there now. They may not all affect me the same way. Plus, you know, we've been getting more and more carried away lately, and it's been getting harder to stop at times, and this way…we won't have to."

"Still doesn't seem worth your health."

"Tell you what—at the first sign of anything out of the ordinary, I'll stop. Sound good?"

"Sounds better."

I stroke his cheek gently. "You worry too much."

"I worry about _you_," he corrects.

"Well, it's a good thing you're here to keep an eye on me," I say softly, shifting my body against his a little.

"You're able to switch gears faster than a guy," he tells me, though I can tell by his body's response that he's not really complaining.

"Sex," is all I say, as if that explains everything. He shrugs and nods, so I guess it's good enough for him. He kisses me for a few moments before I shove him on to his back, his eyes growing wide. I climb on top of him, kissing him hungrily. "You know," I say, kissing my way down his throat. "All this talk about contraception and menstrual cycles has really turned me on."

I feel his chuckle rumble up through his chest. "Oh, baby, we know all about dirty talk." His hands slide under my lingerie and I can feel him grow harder as he moans. "Jesus, Mon—no underwear? You've got to _warn me_ when you're going to do that."

I grin and wiggle my hips against him a little. "Isn't it more fun to be surprised? Besides, every time I wear underwear over here, I lose it. Your bedroom is a Bermuda Triangle for my panties." I see a guilty look run across Chandler's face for an instant, and I realize he knows exactly where they are. "You're keeping my underwear, aren't you? You have them squirreled away around here somewhere, don't you?"

His mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to find a good excuse as I raise an eyebrow at him. "I'm just trying to give you a reason to come back."

"That's weak, buddy. How can I know to come back for my underwear if I don't know you're keeping them here? Besides, I don't think I need _that_ as my reason to not come back. The only thing the underwear-stealing is accomplishing is making me buy more."

"Look, okay, I know it sounds a little weird, but I kind of like having some of your stuff over here. It's probably too risky for you to keep actual clothes over here, but at least it's _something_."

My mouth dries out—Chandler wants me to keep clothes at his place. I don't know how to process this. That's huge.

And more of a turn on than I'd like to admit.

"At least tell me this," I whisper. "Are they clean?"

"Ew! Of course they are. I may be a pig, but I'm not an animal." He looks confused for a moment as he tries to figure out if that makes sense, and he looks utterly adorable.

I shake my head as I sit up. "Okay, big fella—pants off."

"And they say romance is dead."

I sigh as I slide off him and he shifts around a bit to remove his boxers. I grab a condom from the nightstand and flick it at him. He rolls his eyes dramatically as he tears open the packet. "I have to do _everything_ around here."

"Well, there's one very important thing you can do by yourself if you don't stop being such an ass hat."

His hands still as he almost chokes on his laughter. "Did my girlfriend just call me an 'ass hat'?"

"'Fraid so," I tell him, biting my lip to keep from laughing.

"And did she also tell me I could go screw myself?"

"I didn't _say_ that; I may have_ implied_ it…"

He shakes his head, rolling on the condom. "The things I put up with for a hot piece of ass."

I snort as I climb back onto the bed. "Touché." To exact revenge, I impale myself on him with no warning. I moan as I watch his eyes roll back in his head, our mood immediately shifting from playful to serious. His hands come up to stroke my sides through the silky material of my negligee as I rock back and forth on him. "Want me to take it off?" I ask, my voice already breathy.

"Leave it on." His hands slide up to my breasts, squeezing them roughly for a few moments before going back to my hips.

I love his hands; they're magic. They always seem to know just where to touch and how to touch it with very little guidance from me. Right now, his hands are a delicious form of torture as I feel the heat of them through silk, but can't feel the skin-on-skin contact that makes me quiver.

He bends his knees behind me and I shift down a bit, the angle changing, deepening, and I groan as my hands brace themselves against his chest, my fingers digging in to him. "Ohhhhhhhh, God, that's good," I moan as I move my hips against his.

His hands slide down my thighs, his fingers so light on my skin it almost tickles. I ache for more contact, but I feel like tonight we're in for a bit of cat-and-mouse, both angling for the upper hand.

I fall forward a bit, my hands reaching out to hold on to his headboard, my breasts in his face. I slide against him, hoping he'll take the hint, when I feel his mouth on me, biting at me through the silk and lace. My entire body shudders, the feel of his lips on me still intense, even through the material.

His teeth graze my nipple and I hiss out, "Yesssssss," as my hips push against him a little faster.

His hands slide back up legs, this time moving under the negligee, maintaining contact. His fingers skim across me delicately, one hand stroking my stomach, the other moving down to my pelvis and I jerk against him.

I clutch headboard until my knuckles are white, trying to control my movements, trying to ignore his hands on me, his lips on me; trying to pretend that I'm in control of this.

His hand leaves my stomach and moves up to my shoulder, releasing me from his mouth. He pushes down a strap, moving the material out of the way until my breast is free. He starts to move his other hand away from my pelvis; I let go of the headboard and grab his wrist, keeping him there. Balancing carefully, I release the bed from my other hand and pull down the other strap until both breasts are available to his ministrations.

He takes one in his mouth and I nearly collapse on top of him, moaning loudly. I grab a hold of the bed again, desperately, and tighten my thighs around his hips, stilling his motions. I grind myself down on him, rotating my hips against him rapidly, creating magnificent friction that radiates down to my toes. He increases the suction on my breast, his free hand coming up to caress the other as his hips try to push against me.

I whimper.

We're so good at sex it's ridiculous.

I move up and down him several times rapidly, unexpectedly, and he releases me from his mouth with an audible pop as his head falls back against the pillow, his eyes slamming shut for a few moments. I feel a wave of smugness wash over me at his reaction.

I do it again, a loud groan escaping his lips, his fingers tightening against me, causing me to buck against him several times before I reign myself in.

His fingers move against me quickly all of a sudden and I throw my head back, a low, strangled noise escaping from deep within my throat.

I clench my inner muscles around him and his body jerks up into me involuntarily, and I push back against him roughly, my hips slamming down on his.

"God, Mon," he whispers, his voice almost sounding choked. "I think we're going to kill each other."

I try to nod my head, his words only half-way registering.

"I think we're both going to win this one."

That gets my attention. I look down at him, little beads of sweat rolling slowly down the sides of my neck. His face is strained; he's barely maintaining control.

He's the sexiest thing I've ever seen.

I bring my face down to his, our lips crashing together, my hands wrapping around him. My hips start to move against him frantically. His hands slide up my body, the fabric of my negligee bunching around my waist. His hips come off the bed slightly every time he thrusts into me. What started as a long, continuous moan morphs in to me crying out each time our hips collide, his mouth mostly muffling my voice.

"Oh, Chandler, YES," I whimper as I kiss him, fairly certain that most of the words are lost in translation.

His fingers dig in to me, his grasp large enough to spread from my hips to my ass, and he pounds into me rapidly, the sound of our fleshing hitting against each other filling the room.

"Yeah, baby, right there," I tell him, feeling almost delirious from the sensations. "Ohh, right there, right there, righ—YESYESYES!"

His body starts to jerk uncoordinatedly against me as I find my release, the orgasm washing over me in tidal waves of ecstasy. His buries his face in my neck as he moans. He keeps pushing his body against mine, both of us prolonging this for as long as we can. I grind my hips against him, moving my hips as quickly as I can, my fingernails digging in to his back as I clutch him as tightly as possible.

Just before I think I'm going to pass out, the feeling starts to subside and I collapse on top of him, moaning as I breathe heavily.

"Jesus," he mumbles as he strokes my thighs.

"I know," I answer, my limbs shaky and weak. "Was that a simultaneous orgasm?"

"Pretty sure." His chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart thumping beneath my ear.

"I think that's the first time that's happened for us."

"I think that's the first time that's happened to me EVER. God, that was intense." I laugh lightly and nod my head, agreeing with him on both points.

"I don't think 'intense' is the right word for it," I murmur.

"No, it's a word. We just need more words."

"Magical?" I offer.

"That's a good one. Earth-shattering?"

"That's two words."

"It was a two-word kind of orgasm," he tells me.

I muster the strength to lift my head and grin at him. "Yeah, it was."

His hand slides around my neck, pulling my lips to his, kissing me slowly, and even though I don't have the energy for sex again right now, my heart rate picks up.

"Could we just kiss forever?" I mumble around his lips. "Because I think I'd be okay with that."

I feel his fingers slide through my hair, keeping me close, and I take that to mean he agrees with me.

I move to slide off him and he immediately tightens his arms around me. "Don't go," he whispers.

"I'm not going far," I reassure him. "I'll be right next to you." Reluctantly he loosens his grip and I situate myself next to him, curled into his side, his cheek resting on top of my head as his hands stroke me gently.

"So, a month, huh?"

I smile and press a kiss to his chest. "Give or take."

I expect him to say something else, but he just sighs sleepily. I grab his comforter with my toes and tug at it until I can reach it with my hands and pull it over our bodies.

It'll be interesting to see what next month brings.

* * *

*A/N...for some reason, I needed a visual this time, so in case you're wondering what Monica was wearing.

redboxlingerieblog .files .wordpress 2013/ 08/ lise-charmel-silk-negligee. jpg

Also, this was almost impossible to write for some reason-I've been stuck on it forever. Not much of the original version is in this one, but I think it turned out all right.

ALSO, some of you fantastic reviewers have said you're repeating yourselves. Just like to say-I DON'T CARE. Your reviews are great and make me so happy and they're not at all repetitious to me, so just say what you need to say and know that I absolutely love it. You guys rock.

.


	12. Chapter 12

Monica rests her elbows on the rail of the boat, looking out across the harbor. I wrap myself around her from behind, sliding my hands over her arms until our fingers link. She leans her head against my chin and I kiss her temple.

"Good call on the Circle Line Cruise," she says, pulling my arms more tightly around herself to ward off the chill of the early autumn evening.

"I have good ideas from time to time," I answer smugly.

"Well, no one we know would be on one of these things, that's for sure."

"A touristy-cruise on a Saturday night in New York? It's the hotspot, I'm telling you. _All_ of our friends are planning to be here tonight."

She nudges me with her shoulder, but says nothing, probably just rolling her eyes.

It was brought to my attention recently that what Monica and I have been doing can't really be classified as dating since the bulk of our relationship has been horizontal. But as soon as I knew she wanted to be seen in public with me, I started trying to figure out a way to make that happen. Lucky for me, it turns out that there's a lot more do than just hang out at the coffee house.

"So, is this really a good date?"

She rubs her head against my chin, leaning back into me a bit. "It's perfect. Thank you."

"How is it for a first date?" I can't believe how insecure I am about this—we've been together over three months—we've had sex more times in those three months than I've had in my entire life. I have inspected every little bit of her body; I know every freckle, every scar, all of it, on a level I've never known with anyone before, but taking her out on a date has unnerved me in a way that I never would have expected. It makes this whole thing we're doing together so much more real; it's not that I'm not okay with that, but I feel like there's a whole lot more riding on us now, and it's a little scary.

Her fingers squeeze mine reassuringly. "This is the best first date I've ever had."

I kiss her cheek gently and see her smile in response. "Me, too." It's true; despite my nervousness at getting this right, I've never had a better first date in my life, and I know that it has everything to do with the woman standing in front of me.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," she answers.

"It's a little personal."

Her body stills for a moment. "The last time you asked me a personal question, we had the best sex I've ever had in my entire life. And while I'm not opposed to doing that again, or even sex in a relatively public place, this particular spot might be a little _too_ public for my liking."

"Well, first of all, thank you. That night was pretty fantastic for me, too. Second of all, it's not really that sort of personal."

"Oh."

I pull back from her and look at the side of her face until she cuts her eyes toward me. "Am I crazy, or do you sound a little disappointed?"

"Well, it wouldn't hurt you to _suggest_ it, you know."

"You actually want to have sex on the Circle Line?" I ask her incredulously.

"I'd just like to be asked."

I pause for a minute, not really sure what to do, until I see the corner of her mouth twitch. "You're screwing with me."

She shrugs, looking unapologetic. "Maybe a little." She shifts a little against me provocatively. "But remember that thing I did in front of you?"

I nod, unable to trust my voice.

"Well, there's a good chance that I'd let _you_ be the one to do that do me tonight."

I feel myself stiffen against her painfully and groan into her hair. "You _would_ say something like that to me when there's no way we can get off this damn boat." I push her gently against the rail as I wrap myself around her a bit more tightly, breathing deeply, as I do my damndest to get myself under control.

She slides out from my embrace, moving to stand next to me. She laces her fingers through mine once more. "Maybe this is safer."

I look at her in disbelief. "Yeah, right. 'Safe' for the two of us would probably mean being trapped on opposite sides of the country, and even then we'd still manage phone sex."

She giggles softly, but doesn't bite. "So, personal question. Go."

I shake my head in wonder; I've never met anyone able to switch gears the way she does. "I think the moment is gone."

She leans her head against my shoulder in response. "Sorry I got you all horny and stuff."

"I wish I could believe you."

"No, I am. I should have waited 'til later in our evening to mention that, not when we're trapped on a boat for another hour. I'll be good. But I really do want to know what you were going to ask."

I take a few deep breaths, refocusing my mind, trying to recall my thoughts. "What happened with you and Rachel?"

She turns and looks at me in confusion. "Something happened between me and Rachel? How did I miss that?"

"I mean back in college."

"You've lost me."

"Well, you guys were best friends growing up, right? All through high school, and I guess even through your first year of college. But we started hanging out more—what? The summer after that? That fall? Rachel was nowhere to be found. I didn't see her again until, well, we bumped in to her when the coffeehouse was a bar, but really not until she ran out on her wedding."

"Wow. Thanks for the recap." She bumps me with her hip and I nudge her arm.

"Anyway, I just figured that _something_ must have happened to cause you two to not be friends. I'm just curious."

She sighs before laying her head on my shoulder once more. "I don't really have an answer to that. We never had a fight or anything. She just…I don't know…stopped."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we hung out all through winter break during our second year, but when spring break rolled around, I couldn't get in touch with her. I think she went to some standard party town or something, probably in Florida. But then I'd bumped in to her when we got home for the summer and she would act super polite and then avoid me. Never returned a call, didn't come over to see me. I knew she was around—we had enough mutual friends so that I'd hear about her from time to time, but never saw her. Finally, I stopped trying. I couldn't make her be friends with me."

"You guys never talked about it?"

She makes a noncommittal noise and shrugs. "I don't know; I guess I never really thought about it. At least not after she came to live here. Didn't seem that important." She pauses, and I can tell that there's something else she wants to say.

"What is it?"

"Well…I do have a theory."

"Do tell."

"It doesn't make me sound like a very good person," she warns.

"Why don't you tell me your theory and let me be the judge?"

"Well…I think she was threatened by me."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She turns to face me, resting an elbow on the rail, keeping our fingers linked. "I was always her fat friend, and suddenly…I wasn't fat. I was competition. Even though I didn't mean to be, or even know that I was. I think she started to see me differently. Don't get me wrong; she was really supportive when I started to lose weight and went shopping with me when I needed new clothes but…I don't know. We went to a couple of parties together that winter, and I think that's when it started. All of a sudden I was getting a lot more attention than I was used to—at least, a lot more positive attention. I don't even know if she was getting noticed less, actually." She shrugs helplessly, and that's when I see that her eyes are shiny with tears.

"Monica, I didn't mean to upset you."

She shakes her head, blinking her eyes rapidly to keep the tears at bay. "You didn't do anything. I don't think I realized this still kind of hurt."

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close; her arms go around my waist and she squeezes me gently. "I was scared, you know? I mean, guys had never paid attention to me like that before. I didn't know how to handle it. Then my best friend stopped talking to me for no reason; I needed her to help me with all that stuff and she was just gone."

"I'm sorry, Mon. I really wish I hadn't brought this up."

She lifts up on tiptoes, planting a quick kiss on my lips. "It's okay. It was an innocent question."

"But still…"

"Don't worry about it. Anyway, that summer is when I came up with the whole 'threatened by me' theory. Whether or not it was true, it made me feel a little better. Or at least justified in being angry instead of sad. _But_, that summer is when Ross and I really started to become friends, so I spent a lot of time with him, and by extension Carol. That fall I started to spend time with you, too, and, well…you know the rest. Life goes on, Chandler. I missed Rachel, but there was nothing I could do about it. We went to different schools, she found different friends. It happens. And we're friends now, so everything is good."

We're silent for a few minutes, the gentle rocking of the boat peaceful as we hold each other.

"I just had an uncharitable thought," I say quietly, stroking Monica's hair.

"What's that?"

"Do you think Rachel was only ever friends with you back then _because_ you were fat?"

She thinks about it for a few moments, her hands absently stroking my back. "No, I don't think so. I think we were friends because we'd known each other forever. Even though she was pretty much the most popular girl in school, she never seemed to care or notice that I was big, and I guess because I was friends with her, I had more of an 'in' with the cool kids. Our dynamic changed; _we_ changed. I don't think she knew how to handle it, either. I mean, we were only eighteen."

"I guess that's true," I concede, kissing the top of her head. "Well, for what it's worth, you very quickly became a _master_ at how to handle guys."

She tilts her head back to look at me, her forehead a little furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, c'mon, Monica. I was there—remember? You broke hearts left and right. You had a different guy chasing after you every day."

"No, I didn't."

I stare at her in disbelief. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Chandler, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Well, I can't speak for what your life was like when you weren't hanging out with us, but every time you were on my campus, there was at least one guy trailing after you like a puppy. Do you really not understand just how hot you are?"

Her forehead crinkles even further. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Monica, I've watched guys chase after you for years, but it was never anything like those couple of years in college. I guess maybe it's because you didn't even realize what was happening but you drove guys crazy."

I feel her hands slide under my jacket. "Did I drive you crazy?" I can tell by her voice that she's trying to distract me, probably uncomfortable with me talking about this with her.

"Well, yeah. Maybe I haven't said this enough, but you're _hot_. Even in college. So yeah, it kind of drove me crazy watching all those guys chase after my roommate's hot little sister. I kind of had an ongoing crush on you for a while."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

I shrug. "Don't know. Maybe I thought it would have been weird. And I really liked hanging out with you. If I'd told you I was into you, it would have messed things up and things would have gotten all…weird. Look at what we would have missed out on. We wouldn't have been friends. We wouldn't have this right now which is so great."

Her lips are on mine without warning, her arms tightening around me. I briefly consider the other people on the deck around us before I melt into her. I bring my hand up to stroke her hair and she moans softly into my mouth.

"You're so sweet. You really had a crush on me in college?"

"Duh. On and off for the last ten years, really."

Even in the sunset, I can see her cheeks turn pink, and for the briefest of moments, she's nineteen again, and I have to wonder what our lives would have been like if I'd made a move on her back then. The romantic in me would like to believe that it would have worked out, that out of all the people pursing her back then, I would have been the one to stick, and that we'd be that obnoxiously cute couple that's been together forever. But realistically…I was an idiot back then. I'm an idiot now, too, but I was worse in at twenty. I would have screwed everything up, and there's a good chance she wouldn't even be my friend right now, never mind my girlfriend.

"You were _so_ worth the wait, Monica," I tell her softly, stroking her cheek gently.

She smiles up at me, radiant, her eyes sparkling. "So were you."

Our lips fuse together, the world around us melting away, the people on the deck with us disappearing. In this moment, the grandeur of New York City at sunset is completely lost to us, and we're all there is.


	13. Chapter 13

I survey my handiwork, hoping everything is in place—candles lit and placed strategically around the room; brand new sheets; bottle of champagne in a bucket with two glasses that have just been poured; mildly uncomfortable skimpy underwear.

A gentle tap on the door makes me jump. I pull a robe over my mostly naked body, leaving it untied, before I open it just a crack to make sure it's Chandler.

"Hey," he says quietly, smiling at me.

I smile back and pull the door open fully, enjoy the way his jaw drops as he sees my scantily-clad body. "Whoa. It's not even my birthday."

I grab the belt loop of his pants, pulling him into my room and standing on tiptoes to wrap my arms around him and kiss him. "Hi."

I hear the door close behind him as his arms wrap around me. "Not that I'm complaining, but isn't it kind of early for me to be over here? I mean, it's not even nine."

"Rachel has a date tonight," I tell him, kissing his neck. "She said something about going to a club and it being a late night for her. So, we have the place to ourselves for a while."

"I like the sound of that," he mumbles, his lips finding mine again. Keeping my arms locked around him, I steer us farther into the bedroom.

"What do you think?" I ask him, double checking the room even though it doesn't really matter at this point.

"Wow," he whispers, leaning forward to run his hands over the new sheets. "What's the occasion?"

I lean up, whispering in his ear. "It's been over a month."

He looks at me, puzzled. "A month? What are you talking about? Haven't we been together for like, four months?"

I feel my heart skip a beat; he knows without thinking about it how long we've been together, and that feels kind of huge. "Yes, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"You're gonna make me work for this, aren't you?"

I sigh, dropping my arms. "You're gonna make this hard, aren't you?"

He smirks, looking at me sideways. "I think _you're_ the one who makes it hard."

"You're sick."

"I…meant it as a compliment?"

I walk over to the nightstand to pick up the glasses of champagne, handing one to him. "About a month ago, I went to the doctor…"

Understanding immediately flashes over his face as he takes his glass. "Has it really already been a month?"

"I can't believe you haven't been keeping track."

"I'm a simple creature, Monica. I've been getting sex on a regular basis, so that's kind of where my focus has been."

I roll my eyes—figures. "At any rate, I thought it'd be kind of fun to make a big deal out of it. So…" I sweep my hand around, gesturing to the room.

He reaches his hand out to stroke my cheek. "I think it's great." He steps closer to me, our lips meeting, his hand slowly sliding down my body, goosebumps rising all over my skin. I sit down on the bed and scoot over to the headboard, waiting for him to follow.

"You know," I say as he crawls toward me. "You're wearing an awful lot of clothing."

"Well, you know, it _is_ a lot earlier in the night than usual. I thought it might look suspicious if someone saw me wandering around your dark apartment in my bathrobe." He settles in next to me and we clink our glasses, grinning at each other.

I fiddle with the stem of my glass before taking a sip of the champagne. "Four months is a pretty big deal, too," I tell him, my heart thumping nervously.

"Not _just_ four months," he tells me. "I think these have been the best four months of my life."

I feel relief spread over me. "Really?"

"Definitely. Being on London Time was the best thing I ever did." He leans down and kisses me softly, and this time I feel my heart fluttering, nearly bursting at the seams with happiness.

"To another four months?" I ask tentatively, holding my glass out to him once more.

"At least," he answers, clinking his glass to mine again, and we finally drink our champagne. After a sip, Chandler looks at me, surprised, and I shrug bashfully.

"Tonight seemed like a good reason to buy the nice stuff. Which is why we're here instead of in a nice hotel room with privacy, but I figured it was a decent compromise."

He picks up my free hand, kissing my knuckles. "I think this is perfect." He takes the glass out of my hand and puts both back on the nightstand. When he turns back to me, his eyes are already darker, and my body hums with anticipation.

I lick my suddenly dry lips. "You don't think this is too much fanfare for what will probably just be regular sex, do you?"

"I don't think tonight will be 'regular' at all, Mon," he answers, his voice low. "Even if it's only in our heads, it's going to be so different." He kisses me slowly, firmly, his body halfway draped over mine, his clothes scraping against my overly-sensitive flesh, and I moan into his mouth.

"So, four months," he says when comes up for air. "Actually, four months, three days."

I feel my breath catch in my throat and fight the tears I feel prickling at the corners of my eyes with every fiber of my being. It was just an odd coincidence that a month after I started back on the pill wound up being close to our anniversary, and I really didn't want to make a big deal out of it. I thought he might be okay with it, but I never really know with Chandler. I didn't want to push it. Celebrating condom-free sex seemed like a good enough event to make tonight special. But the fact that he knows exactly how long we've been together completely blows me away.

"You…you know our anniversary?"

"You never forget a day that changes your life."

I'm done. I feel tears slide down the sides of my face, and he tenderly wipes them away.

If I didn't know before this, I certainly know now; this thing I have with Chandler is completely different than anything else in my life. "You changed me, too, Chandler," I whisper, running a hand through his hair.

His arms wrap around me and we lie face to face on my bed, kissing, hands roaming and caressing, and a feeling of complete happiness washes over me.

I'm in love with this guy.

I realized it a few days ago, though I've felt it for a while now.

He probably loves me, too. Or at least, he will, in his own time. Aside from his commitment issues, what he went through with Kathy last year really hurt him, but I know he'll get there.

"Know what I'd like to do?" he whispers against my lips.

"Take off your clothes?" I answer, tugging at his shirt.

He offers no resistance; instead, he stands, peeling off his clothing and I lie back for a moment, watching the way the muscles in his back shift and ripple as he pulls off his undershirt. He tosses his clothes to the floor, his button down still in hand, when I see his shoulders shake a little as he chuckles.

"What?"

"Wanna see something funny?"

I sigh and roll my eyes; he certainly knows how to kill a moment. "Probably not."

"I think you'll enjoy it."

"Fiiiiine."

He turns to face me, and I burst out laughing; his work shirt is draped over is erection.

"You like?" he asks proudly.

"There are so many things wrong with you," I tell him between fits of laughter.

"What are you talking about?" He sticks his hands on his hips and struts back and forth for a moment, causing me to laugh even harder. "It's multipurpose."

I shake my head as I sit up on my knees, reaching out a hand to grab his hip, stilling him. I take the shirt and toss it to the foot of my bed. "Come over here."

He takes my face in his hands, kissing me around our smiles; I don't know if it was entirely on purpose, but he's managed to shift the mood from serious to playful.

His hands slide under my robe, pushing it off my shoulders. I let go of him for half a second to let it fall to the bed before my hands go around him again, pulling him closer. I feel his fingers fumble with the clasp of my bra for a few seconds before it comes undone, and I pull away to look at him, impressed.

"You're getting better at that."

"Yeah, my hot girlfriend's been letting me practice on her for a while now."

"Well, she sounds awesome. Remind me to bake her a cake."

"Oh, will do," he answers, sliding the bra straps down my arms and tossing it over his shoulder. "Hey, Mon?"

"Hmm?"

"Bake yourself a cake." He lowers us slowly down to the bed, his lips on mine, one arm wrapped firmly around me as the other braces against the mattress. My legs instinctively fall open to cradle him, and I realize that I'm still wearing my underwear.

"I think you forgot something." I wiggle my hips against him for emphasis.

"I'm getting there," he tells me. "Be patient." He begins to kiss his way down my body, his lips slowly paying homage to every spot he can find, his hands gently stroking my sides. I feel my breathing start to grow a bit more rapid.

Slowly, so slowly, his lips trail down to my breasts, but he manages to just skim over them, giving them no more and no less attention than the rest of me. I feel myself start to moan, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm turned on, desperate for more contact, or both.

He kisses his way down to my stomach, his lips finally pressing more firmly, his teeth nipping at my hips, his tongue tracing the edge of my belly button, and I moan loudly this time. He grins at me as he stands up, his fingers gently hooking around the edge of my panties, pulling them down my legs and tossing them in the pile with his clothes. His lips gently work their way up my legs, alternating from time to time, and I feel dizzy with anticipation.

His lips are on my stomach again, and my back arches off the bed as I whimper. He grabs a pillow and tosses it on the floor, kneeling on it. He grabs my knees and pulls me to the edge of the bed, his lips on my inner thigh. I prop myself up on my elbows and nudge his back with my heel.

"You don't have to…tonight's about us, not just me."

"Four months is cunnilingus—didn't you know?" he mumbles against me, his lips still working their way up my thighs.

I try unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh and he grins up at me. "I like to do this, you know. It's not a chore for me." He stands up suddenly and leans over me, his face so close to mine our noses bump. "I love the way you taste."

My body jerks involuntarily as I groan; he doesn't often say things like that, but when he does, it makes me feel like I'm about to implode.

I lean up and kiss him briefly, and then he's gone, kneeling before me again. Before another word can be said, his mouth is on me and my hips fly off the bed for a moment before his hands bring me back down.

"Ohhhhhh, God," I moan as my hands clutch my quilt tightly, my voice loud enough so that I can hear it echo back against my walls.

I feel him mumble something against me, the vibrations from his lips making me shiver.

One of his hands leaves my hip, and I can feel his fingers stroking me softly for a moment before they slide into me, and my back arches off the bed again, a strangled sounds falling out of my mouth. His other arm moves to drape across my torso, keeping me mostly on the bed, his hand teasing my breasts.

I reach down and squeeze his fingers in my hand, and he somehow manages to link our fingers together.

My entire body constricts for a moment, my toes curling against his back. I feel him attacking me more purposefully, his mouth doing wonderful, unearthly things to me. My free hand reaches down and grabs at his shoulder, squeezing tightly, nails digging into him, my body almost in a sitting position. I look down at him and our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before my head falls back and I start to spasm violently, yelling wordlessly, senselessly. His hand curls around mine, that simple gesture more reassuring and intimate than I expected.

My body flops against the bed, spent, my chest heaving as I try to compose myself enough to make sense.

"Out of curiosity," I gasp, "what's five months?"

I feel his lips on my stomach once more as he chuckles. "I'll let you know when I figure it out."

A noise that's somewhere between a laugh and a whimper escapes me as I tug at his arms. He crawls up me, both of us scooting up until we're not dangling off the mattress. I take his face in my hands, bringing his lips to mine.

His body slides against mine and I feel my insides quiver. I push him onto his back, crawling on top of him, my thighs bracketing his. His fingers dig into my back as he moans into my mouth, and all of a sudden his flips me onto my back. "I wanna be on top," he tells me, nipping at my earlobe for emphasis.

My heart speeds up a little; usually, that means he's in the mood to be super romantic, and it happens that I'm in the market for that. I sigh and scratch my nails through his hair, and he makes a happy little noise as he settles against me, our bodies moving slowly against each other, our mouths following suit.

I think this is what heaven feels like.

He pulls back from me a bit, his face flushed and a little sweaty, his eyes so dark they're almost black, and I have to fight the instinct to reach over to my nightstand for a condom.

"You sure you want to do this?" His voice is soft, breathless, and in that moment, I love him even more. He puts my comfort before his pleasure, regardless of how far gone his is.

"Positive. I don't even have any condoms in here right now."

"You don't?"

"Nope. I wanted to make I didn't wuss out."

He strokes my hair reassuringly. "I don't think it's wussing out to be concerned with safety."

"I'd say we're pretty safe," I tell him. "I want to do this."

Part of me wonders if we're making more out of this than we should—it's not as if we're having completely unprotected sex.

I guess it's just that I've never actually _wanted_ to do this with someone.

That doesn't stop me from feeling more nervous now than the first time we slept together.

I run my hand down the side of his face, and he turns his head to kiss my palm. "I'm ready when you are," I whisper.

He looks at me so seriously, with such concentration, as his hands slide around my back and his hips pull back from mine, positioning himself just outside of me, so close that all it will take is one little thrust. His eyebrow lifts just a bit, asking me one last time if I'm sure. I give him a little nod and lift my hips off the mattress the same time he sinks into me.

A strange noise rips its way out of my throat as my eyes slam shut and I bury my face in his neck, my fingers digging into his lower back.

"Jesus," he groans into my hair, his body coming to a complete stop as he pants against me.

A shudder works its way up from my toes, coursing through my entire body, and I grip him more tightly for a moment, not sure what to do. He was completely right when he said this wouldn't be regular sex. And I'm sure the bulk of the difference is in my mind, but I don't care.

This feels amazing.

I'm aware that I'm still making noises—something between a whimper and a whine—even though we haven't started moving.

"Please," I moan, and he springs into action, his hips firmly, slowly pushing against me, his body moving against mine sensuously, his pelvis making contact with mine each time, causing little waves of pleasure to ripple through me.

This is so intense I think I might cry.

He changes his angle, pushing against me harder, steadier, and I can hear the headboard knocking against the wall, a steady thump-thump-thump.

"Oh, God, yes," I groan. "Yes yes yes yes yes yes." I think I get progressively louder with each "yes."

Chandler's lips are on mine again, his own groans muffled against me as his hips move faster. I move my feet until they're braced on the inside of his legs, trying to keep him close. His head falls back for a few moments as he groans out, "Oh, yeah."

Usually, I'm the talker; I know this must be pretty good for him if he's chatty.

"More," I demand, thrusting my hips up against him rapidly.

Not in the mood to tease me, he gives me more. He slams against me, the knock of the headboard against the wall faster, and I find it oddly fascinating; most nights, we have to find a position that doesn't cause a lot of commotion, and my lust-addled mind finds it terribly interesting that the force of the two of us together can cause my bed to move like this.

I wonder if there'll be dents in the wall.

I arch my back off the bed, pushing my breasts into his face, and he instantly latches on, his teeth grazing my sensitive flesh around the incredible suction.

One of my hands flies out, scrambling against the wall, the mattress, the bed frame, looking for anything to grab onto as a shriek leaves my mouth.

My hand comes back to him, grabbing his back again, my nails scratching his skin. He hisses, but I know he doesn't care; he moves against me harder, faster, moaning almost continuously.

Much more of this and I'll actually go insane.

If this ends now, I'll go insane.

His hand slides down to my thigh, hitching my leg higher around his waist and my eyes fly open for a minute, my head pushing back against the pillow. "Oh, baby, THERE YES. OH GOD YES."

I clutch at him frantically, trying to keep him close to me, our hips creating so much friction I think we'll combust.

I pull his face up to mine, kissing him as best I can around my panting and groaning, his body hot and sweaty against mine, everything about him fitting perfectly against me.

He gasps against me, pressing his forehead to mine. He changes his angle again, and somehow he feels like he's in me deeper, more completely, and he's hitting all of the spots at once and I feel my body start to tingle.

I try to let him know, but I'm beyond words right now. The best I can manage is, "I…I…I…" over and over again.

But he knows. His body slams against mine and I yell out; he does it again, and this time I actually scream. He rams into me over and over and over, relentlessly, mercilessly, wonderfully, and I keep yelling and screaming, unaware and unconcerned with what's happening. I push myself into him, my body speeding up, racing toward a release, trying to find it, trying to get there.

"Monica," he moans reverently, and I explode into a million tiny pieces, making noises I've never made before, yelling for him, begging him not to stop, to never stop, as my orgasm slams through me.

He's only seconds behind me, his movements all of a sudden jerky and sloppy as he releases into me, and I vaguely realize that, for the first time, he's actually releasing into me; I clutch him tighter, push against him harder, making it last as long as possible.

Finally, he collapses on top of me, spent, and I stare at the ceiling as I pant, stroking his damp hair as he tries to catch his breath.

I feel…like nothing I've ever felt before.

He's shaking against me, his entire body on vibrate.

I turn my head and kiss his temple, breathing him in—breathing _us_ in.

I feel his lips on my neck, moving softly and slowly.

He doesn't move to get off of me; I hold him in place anyway.

"Oh, my God," I whisper, and I involuntarily thrust my hips against his, the aftershocks alone more intense than most sex with other guys.

Unbelievably, I feel him stiffening inside of me as his hips respond to mine. "Again?" I ask, still breathless, my body still overly sensitive and extraordinarily responsive.

"I think so." He drives into me a couple of times and I moan helplessly, desperate for more of him, amazed that he can do this again so soon. "You want to?"

"Oh, yes, please. Very much." He rotates his hips against me gently as I lie beneath him, my body coming back to life under his touch. "Sit up," I breathe.

"Do I have to?" In protest, his hand snakes down to my pelvis, his fingers pushing against me. I yelp and grab his hand, pulling it away quickly.

"Too much." I tell him. "Sit up."

Reluctantly, he does, sliding out of me in the process. I don't let myself think about how empty it feels as I sit up with him. His hands immediately go to my waist, pulling me closer. "What do you want me to do?"

I only think for a moment—that's all my brain will allow. I hadn't anticipated needing him this much again so soon. "Headboard," is all I say, pointing in that general direction. He lifts up on his knees and I go with him, and his mouth finds mine again. I sink into him for a few moments, sighing into his mouth. He rubs against me gently, and I can feel him twitching against me, completely ready again.

"I've never wanted you more," I tell him, my heart thumping erratically against my chest. His fingers tighten against me briefly before he finally crawls around me, situating himself where I asked.

I smile as I turn to face him, though I'm sure it comes across much more predatory than I intend. Even though he's carefully schooled his face into a mask of control, his entire body is tense, his knuckles turning white as he balls his fists. I see his nostrils flare as he breathes heavily through his nose, waiting for me.

I crawl over to him, sliding my hands slowly up his thighs, his arms, up to his shoulders. "I like this." I swear I'm purring—that's what it sounds like at this point. "No condom to throw away, no new condom to struggle with. I could get used to it."

His hands stretch out, fingers grazing my thighs delicately, but he doesn't pull me to him. He remains silent, waiting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Desire rushes through me and I can't possibly wait another second.

I move forward, my hands still braced on his shoulders, positioning myself for a second before I slide onto him. My head falls back as I moan, happy to have him back where he needs to be.

His fingers tighten around my hips as he buries his face against my chest, what sounds like a growl coming from him.

I push against him, taking him in as far as he'll go. "Jesus, Monica," is all he says, his body rigid beneath mine, his breath hot against my skin. I push against him again, trying to deepen the connection, not at all interested in having our bodies be apart for even half a second.

His fingers dig into my skin, his hips thrusting up into me; he seems to want the same contact I do.

"I think I'm about to embarrass myself," he grunts, his thrusts only speeding up.

"Me, too," I try to reassure him. I am so close already, it's insane. Maybe I never stopped. I can't tell. I don't care.

He's all that matters. Him and this moment, and the two of us being together like this with literally no barriers.

"Oh, my God, this is incredible," I groan, pushing faster, my hands sliding off his shoulders to his back, my arms wrapping around him tightly. I kiss him for a few moments, unable to maintain the contact for long between our heavy breathing, rapid movements, and my inability to stop moaning.

All of a sudden, it feels as if a rubber band snaps inside of me and my movements become uncoordinated, jerky, and I feel like I'm falling off the edge of a cliff. An honest to God wail leaves my lips as I pound into Chandler, and I vaguely realize that at some point, he'll want to preen about all the noises he managed to elicit from me tonight.

Whatever. It's worth it to feel like this.

He pounds into me a few moments later, his hands keeping my hips still, the force of his motions making my knees leave the bed for a few seconds, and he yells out against my neck, sounds that mean nothing and everything at the same time.

I gasp for air as we finally—finally—start to slow down. I'm collapsed against him, boneless; I probably couldn't move if the room caught on fire right now.

"Totally regular sex," he whispers to me, his arms sliding around my waist.

"Completely ordinary," I agree, my voice raspy, and I realize then that I probably screamed a lot more than I realized. I should be embarrassed—this sort of reaction can't possibly be normal, not in the real world, at least.

He nuzzles my cheek, saying nothing about my voice for the moment, though I'm sure that will come up at some point when he's grandstanding about tonight.

"I think you killed me. I think I actually died."

I giggle softly, kissing his shoulder. "Then my work here is done."

"God, that was amazing." His hands stroke my back reverently, and I snuggle into him, feeling exhaustion start to take over.

"Mmmm," I mumble in agreement, then sigh contentedly. "Every time I think we can't possibly get better at this…"

"I know." I feel his lips on my neck as they drag across my skin lazily.

"Can I just go to sleep like this?" I ask, my eyes heavy, and I feel nearly comatose.

"Sure, but we might be in pain in a few hours." He makes no move to shift me off of him, though.

"_Or_, we'll already be in position for more sex."

I feel his lips curl against my neck. "Mmm. More sex." His breathing evens out, and it seems we're actually going to sleep like this. I tighten my grip around him as best as I can as my eyes shut completely.

We'll probably wake up in an hour or so, sore and chilly, and hopefully with enough energy to get into a better sleeping position.

Right now…none of it matters. I'm with the guy I love, wrapped in his arms, our bodies still linked, that connection still there.

My life is perfect.

* * *

*A/N…that happened. I'm pretty damn proud of this one, I have to tell you. Hopefully, it's not just legendary in my own mind.

Also, I'm trying to tie these in with my other stories, because even though there are some differences, I still feel most of these stories fit together. So, for context, this takes place a few days after "To Fall In Love," and at the same time as "Hot Blooded People."


	14. Chapter 14

Candy wrappers are scattered across the coffee table; half-eaten bowls of popcorn and chips are abandoned on the floor; half-drunk bottles of beer and soda litter the side tables.

Scary movie night may be the best idea Ross has ever had.

It might be the biggest cliché in the world to watch scary movies on Halloween with all of the lights turned off, but if it gives me an excuse to cuddle with Monica in public, I'm all for it.

Well, as public as her apartment can be, which can actually be pretty communal at times.

But still, it's nice to be able to do this in front of our friends for a few hours.

Monica has been pretending to be scared most of the night, so we've been curled up under a blanket, with her buried in the crook of my arm, her arm wrapped around my waist, and our friends are none the wiser.

This is truly one of the best things about us and our oddly affectionate relationship; we can cuddle in front of our friends and they don't think anything about it. Monica's been doing a fantastic job of pretending to be scared every so often and burying her face in my shoulder, using it as an excuse to covertly kiss me.

It's not much, but it's still pretty great, and at least we get to spend more time together.

I take a quick scan of the room; Rachel's curled up in the armchair, her eyes wide with terror when she's not covering her face. Ross is sitting on the floor between the chair and the couch, trying his damndest to look calm and collected even though his eyes have been shut most of the night. Joey's on the other end of the couch, alternating between looking scared out of his mind and giddy with glee, his eyes never leaving the screen. Phoebe left about an hour ago, claiming boredom, but she'd looked pretty freaked out. One would think that after living on the streets as a teenager, not much would scare her, but one truly never knows with Phoebe.

I glance down at Monica; her eyes are focused on the screen, but her hand under the blanket is gently stroking my stomach, occasionally drifting down to my thigh, my knee, before coming back. I give her shoulders a tiny squeeze and squish down a little further into the corner of the couch, bracing a foot on the edge of the coffee table.

I feel Monica's nose nuzzle my neck and I take a few deep breaths, trying will my body into submission.

Doesn't really work. Especially when my amazing girlfriend is pressed up against my side.

Her hand drifts just a little farther south, rubbing my abdomen purposefully, her fingers tracing the edge of my pajama pants. I look down at her again; her face, aside from the vague expression of fear she's wearing for the benefit of our friends, is completely innocent. I glance around the room again; no one's paying us the least bit of attention.

"What are you doing?" I breathe.

She ignores me and continues to watch the movie. I turn my eyes back to the screen—looks like Michael Myers is still slowly stalking someone who's running away at a full sprint. Gee—I wonder if he'll catch her. This is just one of the reasons why movies like this don't scare me. Who can be scared of some guy who's not in a rush that manages to catch someone who is _every single time_? The impossibility of that situation alone is—

I gasp as Monica's hand disappears under the waistband of my pants, grasping me.

It's just sheer dumb luck that it was timed perfectly to a scream in the movie so none of our friends noticed.

Though, it's entirely possible that Monica planned it that way.

Either way, I think my eyes are going to bug out of my head. Her hand slides up and down me gently; all of my blood immediately rushes south and I'm suddenly so hard, it's painful.

"Seriously, what are you doing?" I whisper as quietly as possible.

"Shhhh," she answers in my ear, her teeth nipping at my lobe for a moment before turning her eyes back to the TV.

Shhhh? She wants me to "shhhh"? Her hand is down my pants doing the most amazing things to me in the middle of her crowded living room and I'm not supposed to question it?

Her grip on me tightens ever so slightly, enough to make me shudder from head to toe. She moves her hand up to the top of me, her fingers swirling around the sensitive flesh for just a moment before sliding back down, and my head falls against the back of the couch.

I swear, she's trying to kill me. I can think of worse ways to go, but still…she's trying to kill me.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek and take a few deep breaths, but I whimper a little anyway. I notice Joey giving me a look, raising his eyebrow at me, but I keep my eyes focused on the screen. He shrugs and goes back to the movie, and I sink down a little further into the cushions.

Monica starts stroking me faster and my eyes shut involuntarily—God, she has such amazing hands. Small, delicate, strong…she can do anything with them, include bring me to the brink of insanity.

It goes without saying that I basically have the world's coolest girlfriend. I've never known any other woman so willing to do dirty stuff in such public places. I never would have suspected that of her; I certainly never would have suspected that she'd instigate it most of the time.

It's incredibly hot.

What she's doing to me right now is even hotter. Wildly inappropriate, but so, _so_ hot.

My fingers dig into her shoulder; it's all I _can_ do right now. My other hand his draped on the arm of the couch—if I move it under the blanket, I'm sure I'll draw attention and that is the last thing I want right now.

I'm completely torn between wanting her to stop and needing her to continue; it feels _amazing_.

Her fingers slide down to the base of me, squeezing me for just a second and I hiss through my teeth, my body tensing as I try desperately to stop myself from throwing her over my shoulder and taking her to her room. Her fingers relax and resume stroking.

"Monicaaaaa," I breathe, my hips desperate to thrust into her hand.

Her lips are in my ear again for a moment. "Five months is 'public hand-job'. Didn't I tell you that?"

I slouch down farther on the couch, bending my knee more, hiding what Monica's doing, and I'm distracted for a moment. Five months. I've already been with Monica for five months.

I'm one lucky son of a bitch. A little over a year ago when I teased her about being her boyfriend, I don't think I ever let myself truly believe it could happen. But here I am, with Monica. I get to see her naked. But more than that—much more than that—I get to actually be her boyfriend. I get to take her out to dinner and hold her while she sleeps. I get to kiss her in the morning and hold her hand whenever the opportunity presents itself.

And, apparently, I get to have her hand shoved down the front of my pants in the middle of her living room.

Her movements speed up, and I can tell she now has a purpose, an endgame, and part of me wants it so badly. Another slightly more reasonable part of me knows that it would leave an uncomfortable mess and lead to more questions than I'd care to answer.

Inexplicably, I feel her other hand slide down my pants. I wonder for a moment how she's even managing it before the world goes hazy around me. I feel my stomach tightening and my hips are starting to move in time with her ministrations despite my best efforts.

With a burst of internal strength I didn't know I had, I slide my hand under the blanket and wrap my fingers around her wrist, stopping her motions. She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes as I stare at her, breathing heavily. I hope I transmit my message to her effectively before I stand up, moving to leave the apartment. "This movie is kinda lame, guys," I throw over my shoulder by way of explanation as I walk through the door.

Once in the hallway, I bend over for a moment, my hands on my knees as I breathe deeply. A few seconds later, I push open the door to my apartment and go into my bedroom, closing the door partway behind me. I scrub my hands over my face and pace back and forth, waiting, hoping she'll show up.

I need her so badly right now I think I might faint.

Finally—_finally_—I heard the front door creak open, and a few moments later, Monica's standing in my doorway looking mighty pleased with herself. As she closes my bedroom door behind her, I rush at her, taking her face in my hands, and kiss her. And kiss her, and kiss her some more. Her fingers dig into my forearms, not to push me away but to keep me close, and she moans loudly into my mouth. I feel her knees buckle a little and wrap an arm around her waist, hauling her body against me. Her arms circle my waist as she rubs herself against me.

Roughly, I pull away from her. We stare each other for a full minute, chests heaving, both mentally calculating the risks of doing this right now. At the same moment, we decide we just don't care and start ripping off our clothes.

She's all I can see. She's all that matters. She's glorious.

The last piece of clothing falls away from her and I only spare a second to take her all in before I'm kissing her again, feverishly.

Her hands slide over my already damp skin, her fingers kneading the muscles at the small of my back. I run my hand down her side, over her hip, over the soft curve of her ass to the back of her thigh and haul her leg over my hip, grinding myself against her.

She pulls her lips from mine, gasping. "Oh, God."

I push her down on the corner of my bed and she slides back just a little, her legs instinctively falling open, waiting for me. I pause for a moment, considering. What I'd really like to do is bury my face between her thighs and not come up for air for a week. I know the odds of that happening are slim, even if she'd let me, so I lean over her, capturing her lips in mine once more. She keeps one hand on the mattress, bracing herself, and the other comes up to the back of my neck, her nails scratching my scalp.

I grab her behind the knees and give her a little tug; she falls back onto the mattress, her hand reaching out to skim over my chest, my stomach, my hip. I lean over her and kiss her for a moment; her knees brace against my chest. I bring a hand down to stroke her and she groans loudly, arching her back off the mattress. I move my hand and position myself at her entrance; she pushes her hips at me and I slide into her. Her hand flies up and she grabs the comforter over her head, her eyes slamming shut, a long, loud, "Ohhhhhhhhh," leaving her lips.

I slide my hands down her leg, down to her hip and back up again, stretching it out for her, her foot bracing against my shoulder as I thrust into her. I know we need to hurry—I don't know what excuse she gave them for coming over here, but I'm sure the clock is ticking. But she looks so sensual, so absolutely delectable lying on my bed as I move in and out of her that I can't bring myself to rush it just yet.

She lifts her hips a little to meet mine and I fight for control. I wrap my hands around her leg, pulling it flush against my body as I push into her a little harder, feeling a tiny bit smug as she gasps beneath me. I do it again; she pushes against me just as hard. I slide one hand across her torso and over her breasts, squeezing roughly. Her hands reach up for me, grabbing at my back, trying to pull me closer. I lean over her a little, her leg stretching with me, placing my hands next to her ribcage, but refuse to come any closer. She pulls at me a little harder; I know how much she loves having our bodies pressed together. Hell, I love it, too…but not right now.

"Chandler," she moans, her eyes open just a crack. "Chandler, please."

"Payback's a bitch, isn't it?" I grunt, slamming into her.

She lets out a high-pitched whine in frustration. "Baby, please."

I almost cave. I truly almost do. It takes most of my willpower to keep doing what I'm doing. I swallow heavily, move against her gently suddenly. She moans louder than before. Her knee loses traction against my chest and slides off to my side, the other leg falling off my shoulder as I release it, also moving to bracket my side, and we both gasp as that puts me deeper inside her.

Her head lolls to one side, her mouth falling open. "Ohhhh, yeahhhhh."

I drive into her again, harder this time; her breasts bounce with each thrust, just begging for me. Oh, God, do I want them.

I bend over her, my tongue tracing outlines around her nipples, moving my mouth as best I can in slowly growing circles. Her hands grab my head, pulling at my hair, causing my hips to falter for just a second—something about the way she pulls my hair sends good chills up and down my spine.

I lean over her a little more, bringing our faces closer together. She lifts her head and kisses me, gasping into me as our hips meet over and over and over. I press my forehead against hers. "Monica," I whisper.

"Ohhhhhhhh." Monica's head falls back against the mattress, her hands gripping at my sides, her back arching toward me again. I slow my hips down, rolling them against her gently for a few moments, readjusting my legs so that I'm at a better angle, so I can pound into her harder.

I can't take much more of this, even though I want it to go on forever. I hope like hell she can't, either.

"Oh, God," she gasps suddenly. "That's it. Oh, my God, THAT'S IT THAT'S IT THAT'S AH AH AH AH AH AH AHHHHHHHHH!" Her body spasms against me, thrusting wildly, her thighs pulling me closer, her inner muscles clenching around me, one her hands gripping at my forearm, the other fisting into her hair, and my control slips. I pound into her, releasing into her, my hands fisting into the blanket beneath her, grunting loudly.

I feel her hands tug at me again and this time I don't resist; I mostly collapse on top of her, barely catching myself from completely crushing her, our chests heaving against each other in tandem.

"That was…" I gasp, trying to find the right word. "That was…"

"That was," she agrees as she pulls my head down to hers, kissing me around our heavy breathing. I vaguely notice our hips are still thrusting against each other slowly, but can't bring myself to stop it.

"What brought that on in there?" I ask her softly, gesturing with my head in the general direction of her apartment.

She just shrugs, her lips running gently down the side of my face. "Felt like it."

"In the middle of the movie _Halloween_?"

"Seemed like as good a time as any."

I shake my head at her gently, our noses rubbing together softly. "How can I argue with that kind of logic?" I kiss her for a few moments before reluctantly lifting myself off her, my shaking knees almost dropping me to the floor. I hold out a hand for her, helping her to stand; she stumbles for a moment, too. I wrap my arms around her for a minute, pulling her close. I just need a moment with her, and judging by the way her arms tighten around me, she does, too.

I give her one final squeeze and kiss her quickly before I release her, searching for our clothes. I find my t-shirt and pajama pants but no boxers.

"Hey." I look up just as she flings her underwear at me.

"Uhh…thanks?"

She rolls her eyes, going to my underwear drawer. "You're just going to squirrel them away over here anyway, so throw them in with your laundry." I shrug and toss them in the hamper as she reaches way back into my drawer, finding clean panties.

"You mock me," I say as we pull on our clothes over our hot, sweaty bodies. "But it's come in handy for you more than once."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Hey, what did you tell them so you could get over here?"

Her mouth quirks to one side for a moment. "I told them that you were scared of the movie and that I'd try to convince you to come back over. Think you're convinced yet?"

I reach out and tug at her hip, pulling her into me. "I'd rather stay here. Can arrange that?"

She stands on tiptoe, kissing me. "I'll be back later tonight," she whispers.

"Good. Because I've got a better idea for five months."

Her breathing increases ever so slightly. "Want to fill me in?"

"Oh, I'll fill you in."

Her eyes grow wide and I watch a blush spread across her cheeks. I love that I never know what's going to cause that kind of reaction in her. When we're naked and writhing together, she never gets self-conscious or shy, but sometimes, when I make some lewd, off-color remark like that, it actually throws her for a loop and she gets a little embarrassed.

I shake my head, kissing her forehead before releasing her, taking pity on her. "You'll see."

She just sighs. "I would argue with you, but we really need to get back." She tilts her head at me, smiling, as she plays with my fingers. "You totally look like you just got laid."

"Yeah, well, so do you." She does, too—she looks wonderfully rumpled and disheveled, flushed and glowy. She brings her hands up to smooth down her hair before shrugging.

"Can't help it now; it's a good thing the lights are off over there—no one should notice. Come on." She tugs at my arm and I follow her through the apartment, pausing when we get to the door, our arms wrapping around each other, our lips fusing. I back her into the door, my hand sliding down her side to her leg, pulling it over my hip, and we rub against each other for few moments, promising each other a more thorough session later tonight. A few long moments later I release her, both of us taking deep breaths, trying to bring ourselves back down, though the temptation to just forget our friends and spend the rest of the evening in each other's arms looms large over us. She sighs and pulls at my hand once more, and I'm being led back into her apartment, directed to my previous spot on the couch.

"Scary movie too much for you?" Joey asks, and I can't tell by the tone of his voice if he's mocking me or serious, so I settle for making a face at him as I get comfortable on the couch.

"It took some doing," Monica says as she settles in beside me once more, and I covertly pinch her side at her choice of words. "But I talked him into coming back over. He did have one condition, though."

Rachel barely tears her eyes away from the screen. "What's that?"

"That we watch _Hocus Pocus_ after this."

Everyone around me laughs and I take it stride—I'm used to them thinking I'm kind of a doof, and it tends to work in my favor. Monica snuggles into me, pulling the blanket over us once more.

"Joke's on you," I whisper. "I happen to like that movie."

She wraps her arm around my waist, cuddling into my side once more. "Why am I not surprised?" Her fingers slide just under the waistband of my pajamas again, stroking my hip softly.

I can't get her alone soon enough.

*A/N…just in case anyone is wondering, the next chapter is, in fact, a continuation of this. Not to get anyone all hot and bothered. *winkwinknudgenudge*


	15. Chapter 15

I hurry across the living room to Chandler's apartment, less worried about being caught by Joey and more eager to be with my boyfriend. This part of our relationship has been much simpler since Joey figured us out, and it's nice that we don't have to sneak around his apartment as much, but that doesn't mean I'm not antsy as hell to get naked with Chandler.

Who cares if just a couple of hours ago he was pounding me into his mattress?

I push open his bedroom door and am greeted by a few candles scattered around his room and bottle of wine on his nightstand.

"Took you long enough," he tells me, wrapping his arms around me.

"Hey! The place was a mess—do you really think I could have focused on sex knowing that there were half-empty bottles and crumbs all over the place." I poke him in his chest. "_You_ could have helped, you know."

He rolls his eyes at me. "Yeah, okay. You would have had to go behind me and clean everything again anyway. Over here, I'm out of the way, _and_ I have a chance to get all sexy for you."

He did do that. Candles, wine, and a shirtless Chandler may not be enough for some people, but it certainly does it for me.

I lean forward and kiss his chest, moving my lips slowly up to his collarbone and over to his shoulder. "So, tell me about five months."

"Ah. Glad you asked." He leans down and kisses me lazily, and I wonder for a moment if that's all there is to it. I don't think I'd complain, actually.

He sits down on the bed, pulling me onto his lap, his lips never leaving mine. His hands slide under the thin fabric of my t-shirt, running up my sides, pulling the shirt with him. "Arms up," he mumbles into my mouth, and I lift my arms over my head, our lips only losing contact long enough for my shirt to be pulled off. He makes quick work of my bra, and we're soon skin to skin. I love this part. I love feeling him against me like this. I love that every part of me that touches him feels alive, crackling with inexplicable energy.

My hips move against his slowly, mimicking what I hope we'll be doing shortly, and I hear myself moan. His fingers tighten against my back, pulling me closer to him. "I like five months," I whisper to him.

"Aw, baby—_this_ isn't five months. This is just for fun."

"Well, now I'm curious. What exactly WHOA!" I let out a yell as he flips me over onto my back suddenly, pressing me into the mattress. His mouth goes to my neck as he grinds his hips against me. A few moments later, he stands, hooking his fingers in the top of my pajama pants, pulling them down in one swift motion. He grabs my foot, dragging up his body, his fingers kneading the sole. He kisses my instep then works his way up my calf muscle.

"I was thinking that something along the lines of a 'build your own dessert' bar would be fun for five months," he tells me, crouching beside the bed, rummaging in his nightstand.

I frown at him in confusion. "A dessert bar? What are you talking about?"

"Well, how do you feel about..." He pops up suddenly, a bottle in hand. "Chocolate syrup?"

The shiver that runs down my spine at the mention of it ought to be shameful. Ordinarily, I wouldn't really enjoy food products in bed, but with Chandler…with Chandler, I'm finding there isn't much that I not willing to do.

"I think I feel pretty good about it, actually," I tell him, taking the bottle from his hand; it's a little cold. "You keep this in the fridge?"

"Yeah, but I took it out a little while ago so it wouldn't be too tough to squeeze out." He kisses his way up my stomach, my sternum, my throat until he lands on my lips. "And I know what you're thinking—it's kind of messy. But I have a set of clean sheets in the closet, and towels and everything ready in the bathroom for when we're done. We won't have to sleep sticky."

I run my hand down the side of his face, bringing his lips back to mine. "You're kinky _and_ you think ahead—I like that."

He waggles his eyebrows, grinning at me. "Thanks."

"Plus, we get to combine my two favorite things—food and sex." I pause, then correct myself. "Actually, my _three_ favorite things—food, sex, and you." I bite my lip for a moment, hoping I haven't said too much, but his smile just grows and he slides onto the bed next to me. His hand traces across my stomach, grabbing my hip, and he presses himself against my side. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but shouldn't we both be naked for this?"

"This thin layer of cotton is the only thing that will keep me in check for right now. You know I have no self-control when it comes to you." He slides his hand up, gently squeezing my breast for a moment, before reaching over and taking the bottle out of my hand. "I've never done this before," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear. "So let me know if it's too weird."

"I think we'll be fine," I answer breathlessly, my body already undulating a little in anticipation. He lifts the bottle of syrup over me, and I watch it pour out almost in slow motion. I hiss a moment later as the cold chocolate makes contact with my overheated skin, landing perfectly on my nipple.

"Looks like a Hershey Kiss," he says, fascinated, before taking me in his mouth, sucking at me eagerly. My entire body convulses around him for a moment as I groan. My hands go to his head, my fingers grabbing at his hair, trying to hold him in place. He moans against me, the sound muffled. "Oh, God, this is good," he tells me, his mouth never leaving my nipple.

I whimper in agreement, one of my legs coming up to wrap around his thigh, and I push myself against him. It's better than good.

He releases me with a pop and I stare at him in horror, wondering why he stopped. Before I can ask, though, he's covering my other nipple in syrup, smiling to himself. I scratch my nails at the nape of his neck, smiling at him fondly. "You and my boobs."

"Yeah, well, your boobs are pretty amazing." He looks up at me in concern. "Is that okay? That I like them so much, I mean."

"How can you even ask that? I'm practically humping your leg right now."

He chuckles, kissing the underside of my breast for a moment. "You've always seemed good with it, but I never thought that maybe it was mostly one-sided."

"I love it," I assure him. "I just like that you're so fascinated by them."

He shrugs helplessly, looking not at all ashamed. "Have been for years, Mon." Before I can answer, his lips wrap around the next one, a look of pure bliss on his face. My head falls back against the mattress and I moan, long and loud.

"Hands down," he tells me, nipping at my breasts playfully with his teeth, "you are the tastiest dessert I've ever had."

"Go back for seconds," I answer, taking the bottle out of his hand and dribbling it on myself, covering more area this time.

He grins at me, his face disappearing against my chest once more. "Oh, God, YES." I push my hips against him, desperate for more contact, only frustrated a tiny bit because I know he plans on taking his time with this.

Not that I'm complaining about that part.

"Next please," he mumbles, and I oblige, trickling syrup onto my other nipple, which he attacks almost before I have time to stop pouring. One of his hands slides down my side and over my hip, grabbing my thigh to keep it wrapped tightly around him; he thrusts his hips into me and I can feel just how turned on his is right now.

"Chandlerrrrrr," I moan, gripping the bottle so tightly I almost crush it.

He reaches up suddenly, taking the syrup from my hand, squeezing the syrup in a line from my cleavage to my naval, his tongue following in its wake. My stomach muscles twitch as I gasp; he pours another line of syrup down me, letting it trickle down my sides a little this time, catching most of it in his mouth.

This is so erotic, I can't watch it. But I can't _not_ watch it, either.

He pours the chocolate directly into my belly button, and I jerk when I feel his tongue reaching into me, searching out the syrup. I thrust against him a little harder, my fingers digging into his shoulders. "Oh, God, please, more," I beg, and he looks up at me for a second, chocolate at the corner of his mouth.

"Your belly button? Really?"

I nod at him frantically. "Really. Don't know why."

He shrugs and pours more chocolate, his mouth going at me furiously. I grab the bedspread over my head, my back arching off the bed. "OHHHHHHH." I swear; I could orgasm from this alone. And I just might.

Maybe he can sense it, maybe he's just trying to explore the entire territory, but he moves on, drizzling the syrup across my stomach in nonsensical designs, his tongue always right behind. I almost miss the "M+C" he writes, as well as the tiny heart he draws, and I let him think I didn't notice, but that one little gesture makes this evening feel just a little bit romantic.

"Where else could I put chocolate syrup on Monica?" he asks playfully. I sit up a little, dragging his mouth to mine. It's the most delicious kiss ever.

"You taste like chocolate," I whisper, digging my fingers into his biceps. "I like that." I slide off the bed, pulling him with me. I untie the drawstring of his pants and pull them down his legs, my body automatically arching into his at the sight of him. I take the bottle from his hand and drag my body down his, landing on my knees in front of him.

"Monica," he says warningly, and I ignore him. I drizzle a thin line of syrup down his erection, his entire body shuddering. I look up at him, making eye contact, before I catch the chocolate with my tongue, licking him gently. He jerks against me and gasps. "Jesus!"

I pull back, pouring another line down him, letting it drip down the sides just a little before my tongue darts out, cleaning the syrup off him thoroughly, moving my lips up and down the shaft, not taking him in my mouth yet. I look up at him again; all of his muscles are tense, the cords in his neck straining, and I feel a rush go through my body knowing I have that kind of control over him.

He doesn't often let me do this often, though he's always quick to reassure me that it's not because I'm not great at it—with the way he reacts, there's no way he could deny it. He just tells me that he prefers, if given the choice, to have sex with me than have it be one-sided, that he can usually, pretty easily, get another orgasm out of me, but it can take a while for him.

"You don't have to do this," he groans, his hands fisting into tight balls at his sides.

"What if I want to?" I ask, my finger tracing gentle lines up and down him, and I drizzle more chocolate on him. I watch it run down the sides of him for a moment before I chase after it. His knees shake and he drops to his bed. I crawl over to him, kneeling in between his legs. I can't even begin to describe the look in his eyes. I put the bottle on the floor and brace my hands against his thighs, pulling myself up a bit. His hand gently sweeps the hair out of my eyes before he kisses me tenderly. I pull away from him a bit reluctantly, grabbing the bottle once more. I dribble a small amount on the head of his penis; he hisses at the contact. I wrap my lips around just the very top of him and his hips buck against me slightly. I release him, pouring more syrup on him. This time, I just swirl my tongue around him, watching his reaction. His eyes roll back in his head; his hands grab the comforter; I can see his thigh muscles twitching as he fights for control.

I pull back from him once more, squeezing the bottle carefully in a circle, watching the chocolate syrup drip in uneven lines down his shaft, and it nearly does me in. I groan as I slide my lips over him, the sauce running away from me as I try to catch it all; I can taste chocolate and _him_ and it's the best flavor in the world. I move my head up and down slowly, taking in as much of him as I can. I moan happily and I feel him shiver, the vibrations from my throat getting to him.

I dig my fingers into his hips and breathe deeply through my nose, the chocolate long gone; all that's left is him. I can't bring myself to give this up.

He says something to me; I can't hear him over the rush of blood in ears. I move my mouth over him more determinedly, and I hear him say something again, this time pulling at my arms. I look up at him; a fine layer of sweat is covering his body, his chest is heaving. I try to focus on his mouth, but all he's doing now is biting his lip. His hips are thrusting against me; I grin and slide my lips down him again, but this time I hear him say, "No no no no! Up here, please."

In an instant, I release him from my mouth and climb onto his lap, rubbing myself against him. He grabs for the forgotten bottle of chocolate syrup, squeezing it down my chest, wrapping one arm around me. He attacks the syrup, scraping his teeth over me, and I arch my back, giving him easier access. He squeezes more onto the tops of my breasts before he ever finishes cleaning up the first batch, his mouth sucking at me greedily. I push myself against him harder, moaning in short, staccato breaths.

He pours more syrup in the hollow of my throat, and it runs quickly down my torso, my overheated body giving it all the traction it needs. He tightens his arm around me and I lean back—all the way back—my stomach muscles tightening as I try to maintain my balance. I feel his tongue run from my naval all the way up to my neck as he pulls me back up, yanking my mouth to his. Chocolate. So much chocolate. It's incredible in a way I never imagined it could be.

I gasp into his mouth, shifting my hips; his hands slide to the backs of my thighs, holding me gently, helping me lift up a little. A moment later, I slide down onto him, and we both take big, shuddery breaths as our bodies join together, neither of us moving for several long moments.

I feel my body shake a little; Chandler's chocolately breath is sweet on my face. I lick my lips slowly; his fingers spread across my back, digging into me just a little. Finally, I move against him, and that's all it takes; his hips start thrusting into mine as I slide down on him. I bury my face in his neck, wrapping my arms around him tightly, a series of "uh uh uh uh uh" falling out of my mouth.

I love this man so much.

I tighten my grip on him, biting at his neck.

I love him more than I ever thought possible. I had no idea five months ago that I would ever fall in love with Chandler. And when it happened, I never imagined that I would love him this much, this fast; that I would love him more than I've loved anyone before.

Even Richard.

What I felt for Richard is _nothing_ compared to Chandler. I can't describe it; I can't explain it. It's just there. This feeling that starts in my chest and spreads out through my entire body every time I see him, every time I think about him. It's intense, and it's almost scary.

And I want so badly to be able to tell him, but I know he's not there yet. He might feel it—hell, he most likely feels it—but he's just not there yet. And that's okay. He's with me; he's with me as often as he can be, and that's more than enough.

His hips slow suddenly, rising against me in long, strong strokes, and I pull my head back to look at him. He smiles at me happily, and I press my lips against his in response. Without warning, he speeds up again and my mouth drops open as I gasp. "Ohhhh, ohhhh, ohhhhhh."

I push myself against him as hard and as fast as I can, our chocolate-covered bodies sticking to each other, this feeling delicious agony. He slows down again, grabbing my hips to bring me to the pace he wants. I want to be irritated—he keeps changing it up so that I can't get into the proper rhythm, but it feels just so good that I can't care too much. "Oh, Chandler," I moan.

"What, baby?" His lips are against my throat, his teeth scratching at the tender flesh.

"Oh, Chandler, yes. YES YES YES." I rock myself against him, and despite his best efforts, I feel myself about to spiral out of control. "Harder," I beg. "Please. Oh, please, more."

The sound he makes is low, guttural, and he presses his forehead against my shoulder, his hips thrusting against mine madly. In my mind, I'm screaming, "I love you! I love you!" I settle instead for just screaming. I clutch him to me, burying my face in his neck once more as we slam against each other, my orgasm unraveling from the tips of my toes, pouring out of me in waves and I throw my head back. "AHHHHHH!"

His body shudders violently, his orgasm moments behind me, his fingertips digging into me as we keep moving together, our bodies seemingly unable to stop, the feeling so intense I think I stop breathing for a few moments.

He moans softly into my hair, his grip on me finally easing a bit. I drag my lips up his neck and find his mouth, kissing him languidly, holding onto him as he collapses onto the bed. He shifts a bit as he tries to pull his legs up, holding me in place when I go to move off of him.

"Oh, God, that was fun," I say, laughing. I prop my head up to look at him. "Hey. For six months, can we do desserts again?"

"Yes, please," he answers immediately. I smile and kiss his neck again before pressing my cheek to his chest, listening to his heart pound. I drag my foot up and down his leg and wiggle my hips against his a little. He tilts his head away for a moment, looking at me. "You want to go again, don't you?"

I look up at him sheepishly and shrug. "Little bit. Think you're up for it?"

He scrunches up his face, contemplating it. He opens his mouth to answer, then pauses, thinking about it some more. He cocks his head, squinting an eye, looking hopeful for a few moments before his head flops back against his pillow in defeat. "No. I'm so sorry. I really want to be, but…"

I slide off him, cuddling into his side, and pat his chest reassuringly. "Oh, honey, don't worry about it. I'm just being greedy." I freeze for a moment—that "honey" just slipped right out.

It doesn't seem to phase him; he just strokes my arm. "Yeah, but if you still want it, I'd hate to deprive you." His eyes light up, a devilish little grin spreading across his face. "I know something I can do for you." He looks over the side of the bed, popping back up a moment later with the chocolate syrup once more, looking triumphant. He stands up and grabs my legs, pulling me to the side of the bed, and I feel my body quiver in anticipation. I've told him repeatedly that he doesn't have to do this, but every time he ignores me, happily going to town on my nether-regions.

The man aims to please, and hits the bullseye every time.

"I think I missed a few spots the first time around," he whispers as he kneels before me, his breath soft against me. He aims the bottle low on my stomach, pouring a little out, and my body jumps as his lips meet my skin. I swallow heavily, knowing that if I'm this responsive right now, we're in for a hell of a ride in a few minutes.

He dribbles a little on my inner thigh, sucking at the soft skin gently. I close my eyes and moan. He turns to the other thigh, adding a bit more chocolate this time, only using his tongue to clean it this time. "God, yeah," I groan, my hand stroking through his hair. He looks up at me and smiles, and my breath catches in my throat. I know exactly what he's going to do the instant before he does it. He takes the bottle and squeezes, the chocolate falling all over my pelvis, my thighs, my—

"OH MY GOD!"

My back arches off the bed, and I almost take Chandler with me. I feel him chuckle against me and I cry out at the vibrations. He grabs blindly for the syrup adding a little more and I wail, my feet bracing against his back, moving in time with his mouth.

His mouth leaves me suddenly, his head perking up. "Did you hear that?"

"What?!" I exclaim. Like I could hear anything but myself at the moment. "Hear what?"

He shrugs a moment later, his mouth just about to make contact again when we both hear a knock on the door, immediately followed by Joey's voice. "Guys!"

Chandler raises his eyebrows at me; my chest heaves as I try to compute what's going.

"Guys, c'mon!"

Chandler makes a face, looking pissed off as he stands up. He tosses a blanket over me, covering the basic areas, and grabs his bathrobe. He wraps it around his waist as he opens the door a crack. "What."

All I can see is Joey's elbow. "Do you mind?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something, Joe!"

"I get that, but could you keep it down? I'm trying to _sleep_."

I groan and flop back against the bed, and I can only imagine the look on Chandler's face right now. "Seriously? _Seriously_? How many years have we been roommates?"

"Well, a lot, but—"

"No no," he interrupts; I realize I can see his ass where his robe isn't entirely closed and it occurs to me that if I weren't still all kinds of riled up, I'd be horribly embarrassed right now. "I've spent all that time listening to you _parade_ women in and out of your room, and how many times have I complained? Hmmm? How many times did I ask you to keep it down because I had to go to work in the morning? Oh—oh, that's right! None."

"Whoa, dude, calm down."

"I _will not_ calm down. I'm in the middle of _sex_ with my _girlfriend_ and you come pounding on my door and tell me to _keep it down_?" I can tell Chandler's really pissed—he's speaking in italics. Not that I can blame him, really. I'm not feeling too fond of Joey at the moment, either.

"Okay, fine, but…" I can picture his face, probably looking mostly contrite. "But do you guys have to be _so_ loud?"

I let out a frustrated noise and prop myself up on my elbows, making sure my vital areas are still covered. "Yes, Joey, I have to be that loud. I absolutely have to be. Now would you go away?!"

He peeks over Chandler's shoulder and his eyes grow wide, an impressed look on his face. "Whoa-ho-ho. What's going on in here?"

Chandler quickly steps in his line-of-sight, blocking me from view, and his voice gets strangely low. "Leave now. Leave us alone. Go put in your headphones or something. Just _leave us alone_."

"Fine! But I just thought you should know that it sounds like someone is being killed over here."

Chandler slams the door in Joey's face, and I bite my lip to hide my smile—I know that had been a goal of Chandler's—being able to make a woman produce those sorts of noises. I'm just happy to be on the receiving end of it. It's been so long since I've had a boyfriend and had to deal with how that works with having a roommate that I forgot how awkward it could be to share a wall with someone who's getting laid regularly. Or to be the one getting laid and having to look a roommate in the eye the next day.

Chandler turns to face me, and he looks so distraught that I laugh even as my heart goes out to him. "Oh, honey, it's okay." There's that "honey" again.

He flops down to his knees, resting his chin on my stomach. It looks like he's actually pouting. "He totally killed the mood."

I shrug, amazed to find that that's not really true. "I could keep going."

He straightens up, staring at me in surprise. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. We were kinda in the middle of some stuff and, to be honest, I'd like to finish it." For the first time, I notice that he has a tiny smear of chocolate on his face. I reach out, my thumb wiping it off him. "Is that okay?" I ask, licking the syrup off my finger.

He squeaks a little, then wraps his arms around my thighs, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed. In a moment, he's lost himself between my legs again. I hear myself moaning and briefly wonder if I should try to keep it down for Joey's sake; I immediately dismiss that thought, though. We spent over four months hiding our relationship, being quiet when we didn't want to, and now that Joey knows about us, we should at _least_ be able to have fun when we're over here.

Chandler's teeth scrape against me and all thoughts of Joey are gone; all I can see are colors and bursts of light swirling beneath my eyelids. He sucks at me—hard—and my body jerks as I yell out for him. "CHANDLER!"

"Hey, babe," he mumbles, moving his lips just a fraction to the side, and I thrust my hips against his face lewdly, desperate for more contact. "It's totally up to you how we finish this because I'm good either way, but I wanted to let you know that I'm back in business."

I groan my hips keep moving of their own volition, my sex-addled mind trying to understand what he's saying. Finally, I tug at his hair, pulling him up, and he drags his lips up my body as he goes before our lips meet. His hips fall naturally into the cradle of my thighs, and together we shift backward until we're completely on the bed.

Wait…did he just call me "babe"? Did we manage to drop two different terms of endearment in one night and not have it be a big deal? Will he call me that from now on? Because I think I'd be okay with that. Can I call him "honey?" Because I really like that, too.

He thrusts inside of me all of a sudden and I gasp, and all that fills my mind is the thought of just how good this feels. He was completely right when he said that we're too good at sex to stop.

He has me so primed from earlier I don't know how long I can hold out.

I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his shoulders, his hips pushing against mine, his mouth and tongue mimicking those movements. I feel his hands slide under me, reaching up to grab the edge of his mattress, and he drives into me with long, hard strokes.

I couldn't be quiet right now if my life depended on it. As it is, I'm only muffled by his lips on mine.

He moves against me a little faster and I tear my lips from his, gasping for air. "Gah!" I exclaim, real words unimportant. My hands leave his shoulders, reaching over my head. I knock a pillow out of the way to find his hands, my fingers squeezing on top of him.

My breath catches in my throat as he swivels his hips against mine, dropping his head to my breasts. My legs clench around him tighter for a few moments before I unravel them and brace them on the mattress, needing _some_ traction.

I feel his knees come up to push against my thighs, spreading me further apart, the angle intensifying. My feet come off the bed as he slams into me and I push my hips up against him as best I can.

His teeth bite into the soft flesh of my breast and I cry out, but not in pain, surprised at the threads of pleasure that go rocketing through me at the sensation. I feel like I could actually break into a million pieces right now.

His lips trace across my chest to my other breast, and he bites into that one, too. My internal muscles clench around him as I yell out, "AHH! GOD!" I feel him shudder against me, his forehead resting in the hollow of my throat. My entire body hums with electricity, like I'm being charged with high voltage and all thoughts of anything but climaxing leave my head. I push against him faster, trying to encourage him to speed up his moments. He picks up on my less-than-subtle signal and pounds into me, and all of a sudden I'm flying apart.

"Ahh ahh ahhh ahhh ahhh OHGODCHANDLER!" Our hips meet over and over again in a flurry of movement, and his lips press against mine, my mouth swallowing his moans of happiness.

My hands relax, releasing him, collapsing onto the bed next to my head. My legs give out, draping over his, though our bodies are still thrusting together slowly, milking the moment, milking each other, tiny, leftover waves of orgasms coursing through us, our mouths moving against each other slowly, dreamily. He nips at my bottom lip and I smile, managing to get a hand up high enough to stroke his sweaty hair.

Oh, dear lord, I love this man.

His legs straighten out a bit, my legs going with him, and I feel him relax against me, his head lying next to mine on the mattress. He strokes my face gently, our bodies still pressed together, the feeling of him covering me almost as intense as sex.

He sighs, his eyes sleepy, and smiles at me. "You're so beautiful."

My breath catches in my throat at that; I don't know why, but he always catches me off guard when he says things like that. I know he means it, though, because he's always said it to me. I lean toward him and catch his lips in my own, kissing him slowly.

I never want this night to end.

"We should probably shower and change the sheets," he whispers.

"I don't care," I answer softly, shocked to realize that I genuinely don't. I don't care at all that we're sticky and sweaty, and that the bed is probably covered in a fairly disgusting mix of…things. All I want is stay like this, holding each other.

But I think he gets it because he just nods. As tired as I am—as tired as we now both are—we stay like that for a long time, not really talking. Just our bodies pressed together, staring into each other's eyes, kissing occasionally.

Oh, yeah. I'm in love.

And it's the best feeling in the world.


	16. Chapter 16

I carefully turn the doorknob to Monica's apartment, opening it just enough for me to slide through before shutting it quietly behind me. The entire place is dark, which isn't that surprising considering how late it is. I glance at Rachel's room, relieved to see that the door is partway open, indicating that she's definitely not at home.

Apparently, a couple of months ago, Rachel overheard us having sex. Really, _really_ loud sex from our first night of going bareback. Fortunately, she didn't realize it was me, and Monica was able to use her "secret boyfriend" as an excuse. All Rachel asked in return was that, if Monica decided to bring her "secret boyfriend" over again, just to let her know so she could make herself scarce. Hence why she's at her mother's for the night.

Unfortunately, I think we've ridden the "secret boyfriend" thing about as far as it can go; any minute now, they're all going to start really questioning who this guy is and why they haven't met him yet. But since Ross is sleeping on my couch indefinitely, we have to get creative to get time alone, and the boyfriend thing has been good to us.

I creep over to Monica's door and hesitate for just a second; she seems to have already moved on from Thanksgiving yesterday, but I don't know that I have. Not the part about the toe-slicing—I managed to let go of that when she put the turkey on her head and started to dance.

The woman is fantastic.

No; it's that whole, "I love you" business. After we got the turkey off her head, she didn't really mention it, though she kept giving me these funny little looks the rest of the day. The thing is, I didn't even mean it _that_ way. I truly meant it in a friendly, "I love that you'd do that for me" sort of way, though the instant it fell out of my mouth, I knew how it sounded. And I knew how she took it by the way her entire body froze.

She sounded so happy.

But I managed to completely freak myself out.

Of course, it brought up the inevitable question—do I love Monica?

Or more specifically, am I _in love_ with Monica?

I don't know how to answer that.

I do know that I like being with her, that being with her makes me happier than I've ever been. Just being able to sit next to her is enough, knowing that she's let me see her in her most intimate moments, walls down, stripped bare, holding nothing back. I like holding her hand, feeling the way her fingers fit between mine. I like waking up next to her, and feel sad when one of us has to leave. I hate the thought of her with another guy—that part makes my skin crawl. And having sex with her—oh, my _God_, I've never experienced anything like it before. With her, I'm somehow good in bed, and she's so damn responsive to every little touch, idea, thought. The way she moans my name and clings to me, strokes my hair, kisses me…

I feel myself shiver a little.

The kissing.

I sometimes get the feeling that I was born to kiss her, and I wonder why I waited all these years to try it. We can make out for hours, and sometimes we do. Sometimes we do absolutely nothing else but kiss each other, and it's still better than sex with anyone else.

I've been with her for six months—longer than any other relationship—and not once have I gotten tired of her, or thought that there might be something better out there for me. She's the best, most amazing person I know, and all I want to do is just spend more time with her. I call her my girlfriend and get excited instead of feeling saddled, and hearing her call me her boyfriend makes me feel anything but trapped. It actually makes me feel kind of proud; definitely proud that a woman as fantastic as she is would want to advertise that I'm hers.

But does that mean I'm in love with her?

I try to push that thought away—if I can't answer myself simply, basically, in moments, then I'm not ready to ask that question.

But that's another great thing about Monica; she doesn't pressure me. Pushes me sometimes, sure, but only when she knows I need pushing. And I'm finding there's a lot less I need to be pushed into with her, like going away for a weekend or two, or calling her just because I'm thinking about her and need to hear her voice, taking her out on ridiculously romantic dates, or being romantic in general…all of this stuff just comes naturally with her.

We just...fit.

I shake myself out of my thoughts. Monica's waiting for me on the other side of this door; all I've been told is that it's been six months, and I know that some sort of food product will be involved again.

My entire body twitches in anticipation. She can definitely turn me on faster than anything else in this world.

I tap on her door softly and hear her call out, "Who is it?"

Can't say as I blame her, given what's happened in the past when we've assumed that one of us was on the other side of the door.

"Steven Spielberg."

I hear her laugh for a moment before clearing her throat. "Come in, Mr. Spielberg—I'm ready for my close-up."

I shake my head as I turn the doorknob—I think it's supposed to be Mr. DeMille, actually. I open my mouth to tease her about it when all of a sudden I see her, and I freeze for just a moment, my mouth hanging open.

An instant later, my mouth goes dry, my heart starts pounding out of my chest, and I'm so hard so fast that it's painful.

No lights are on, but her curtains are open, the light of New York at night filtering in, giving everything a dreamy sort of hue. She's reclined against her pillows, one knee bent a little against the other, her right hand propped up behind her head, her left hand draped casually across her stomach.

And she's wearing a whipped cream bikini.

I think I'm dead. I think I've actually died because this cannot be happening in real life.

I don't even know if bikini is right—it's more like two pasties and a triangle at the apex of her thighs.

I think I'm going to pass out.

My knees definitely go weak; I kneel on the bed, still gawking at her.

"Wow," I finally breathe. It's so inadequate for how she looks but the best I can do under the circumstances.

She smiles at me, but softly, her eyes sparkling like jewels in the dim light. "Happy six months," she answers.

I'm actually speechless. My mouth keeps opening and closing like a fish, trying to process this.

My next move is trying to figure out what to do to her, where to start. Do I go top to bottom, or do I go bottom to top? Do I just clean her off for now, hoping there's more whipped cream where that came from, or do I savor the moment?

She giggles a little, rubbing her legs together just for a moment. "You look a little lost."

"Yeah," I finally choke out, nodding.

"Would it help you to know that there's more whipped cream?"

I groan and tear off my shirt, my pants right behind it, and nearly throw myself at her, my mouth wrapping around her breast, the whipped cream thick and delicious in my mouth. I move to the other one, cleaning it thoroughly, sucking as gently as I can manage in my highly aroused state. I head down to her thighs, my tongue swirling against her, making her hips buck as she whimpers softly.

I hold out my hand. "More."

"You even gonna kiss me hello?"

"If I must." But instead of aiming for her mouth, I go back to her pelvis, my tongue seeking her out, and she jumps at the sudden contact.

"Not there!" she exclaims, laughing.

"Want me to stop?" I mumble.

"I want you to pace yourself, Chandler. We've got all night and a _lot_ of whipped cream."

And I just got harder. I really do need to pace myself. I slide my body up hers, her body molding against mine as I reach her lips, kissing her senselessly.

This woman is truly amazing. I don't know that there's anyone else who'd give her boyfriend whipped cream all over her body for an anniversary gift. It's insanely hot.

I push my hips against hers gently, fighting my body's desire to annihilate her right now. I want to make her scream.

No—I _need_ to make her scream.

She's usually pretty good for that, too.

She pulls her lips from mine, so I move down to her neck, nipping at the skin at her clavicle, part of me hoping she winds up with a hickey, the caveman in me wanting to mark my territory.

She'd probably kill me if I she knew I had these sorts of thoughts, but I truly can't help it. I _do_ consider her mine, same as I consider myself to be hers.

She gives my hair a little tug and I look up; she's holding out a finger, the tip of it covered in whipped cream; my heart pounds just a little harder as I wait for her next move. She dabs a little on my jaw, her mouth chasing behind to clean it up. She puts a little on my cheek, her lips following behind. Next, it's at the corner of my mouth, her tongue coming out to clean me thoroughly. Finally, she smears it gently across my lips, coming up to delicately kiss me, methodically cleaning off every single drop.

Then, she sucks her finger into her mouth, the remainder of the whipped cream disappearing, her eyes looking at me innocently.

Yeah—I'm gonna die tonight.

"Where is it?" I whisper, my voice strained.

She looks over at her nightstand; there stand a couple of silver canisters, nice looking ones, which makes sense since she's a chef and has things like that. I grab one, fumbling for a few moments as I figure out how to work the gadget. I squeeze a smiley face on to her chest, expecting her to laugh, but when I look up at her face, all I can see is her swallowing hard, her chest rising and falling rapidly in anticipation. I keep my eyes on her as my mouth cleans the design off of her, and she groans softly, her eyes fluttering shut.

"This is delicious," I tell, trying to keep my voice casual, conversational, as I cover one of her breasts entirely in whipped cream, smiling at my handiwork. "Where did you get it?"

"I ahhhhhhhhhh," she cries out as my lips find her through the thick layer of cream. Her body jerks against me a few times as she gasps. "I, uh…I made it."

I actually look up at that, sure that my face is covered in the topping. "Really? You made it?"

She nods weakly. "Yeah. It's better than that junk you can buy at the store. This is much, _much_…_firmer_. And _thicker_."

I swallow, feeling my body react to her choice of words, my hips thrusting against hers for a few moments before I get myself under control. Well, sort of under control.

"Do you have any idea of how badly I want you?"

She runs her finger across my face, taking a thin layer of whipped cream with her, bringing it to her lips once more. "Well, we can forgo the whole dessert theme for now if you'd rather have sex."

I contemplate it seriously for a moment—my body actually aches for her. I need her in ways I never imagined. On the other hand, she put a lot of effort into this. She actually made the whipped cream; she covered herself in it just for me, knowing that it would turn me on.

Finally, I shake my head. "Let's do this for a while."

She smiles at me, grabbing the other canister. "Good." She gives me a gentle push, but I go back to her breast, still partly covered. She sighs in satisfaction, giving me another nudge, and I sit up slowly, keeping my lips attached to her, my hand sliding behind her back to help her, to keep her in position. I take her nipple in my teeth, tugging at it for just a moment, making her cry out, her fingers digging into my arm.

She kneels before me, her chest still heaving appealingly. "Let's do this together," she whispers. She squirts a blob on my shoulder, her mouth scraping it off a moment later.

I follow her lead; she puts it on me and licks it off; I put it on her and lick it off. What started out as kinky and fun has turn ridiculously erotic and a little romantic. I lean forward and kiss her suddenly, her lips sweet from the sugar. Without warning, she shoots the whipped cream at my face and I jump back, batting it away from my eyes. "The hell?" I ask as she laughs.

"You looked like you needed it!"

I grab the hand holding the whipped cream canister and pull at it; she laughs as she offers resistance, trying to keep it away from me. I finally squeeze some into my mouth, grinning in triumph.

"Hey! I'm supposed to be using that on you!"

I slide my hand around her neck, tugging her to me, capturing her lips in mine. She moans against me; I can feel her lips curving into a smile.

"You're delicious," she whispers, pressing her lips to mine again. She pushes at my shoulder a little as she wraps an arm around me, guiding me down onto the bed. She straddles me, licking her lips; I shift my hips against her a little and she closes her eyes for a second, breathing deeply. She says nothing, but leans forward and starts drawing lines of whipped cream on me—back and forth, back and forth—until my entire torso is covered. She looks at me from under her eyelashes for a second before tilting forward, her tongue darting out to lick at me, her teeth scraping at me occasionally. She moans as she cleans me, her hips rotating against me, my erection trapped between her thighs.

I let out a shaky sigh, trying to control my body, not wanting it to get the best of me, wanting to watch my amazing girlfriend do this forever. I reach out and stroke her hair away from her face, trying to stop it from getting covered in whipped cream, but I don't think she cares about that right now, not if the blissful look on her face is any indication.

She takes one of my nipples in her mouth, sucking, and I gasp in shock, surprised at just how good it feels, even more surprised that she's never done that to me before.

"You like?" she asks, her voice low.

"Oh, yeah," I groan. "Is this what it feels like when I do it to you?"

"Better."

If what I do to her feels better than this, it's no wonder she thrusts against me the way she does.

I notice that she has most of the whipped cream cleaned off of me. "My turn?" I ask, eager to return the favor.

She slides down me a little, sitting on my legs, pouting a little as she shakes the canister. "Let me play for a little longer?"

Her breasts bounce hypnotically as she shakes the whipped cream and I nod dumbly as I stare. I see her smirk, then she shakes the can a little more vigorously, knowing my obsession with her chest and what it does to me, making herself jiggle a little harder. I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. Suddenly, she's covering my swollen member in whipped cream.

I nearly choke as my hips thrust up, the chill of the topping reacting nicely with the heat I'm generating.

She leans over and takes me slowly in her mouth, bit by bit, and my head flops back as I moan. "God, Monicaaaa. I don't know if I can take this."

She releases me slowly, her teeth scraping up me as she goes. "Just for a couple of minutes. Please?"

Yeah; like I'm actually going to turn _that_ down. My body starts to shake a little and I nod at her. She traces little circles on my hip, looking down at me.

"Now I have to start all over again."

"Uhhhh…" She shakes the can again, covering me once more, and I almost feel like I could sob from it all. She pulls me into her mouth again, slower this time, humming as she does, the vibrations jolting through me.

She places her hands on my thighs, and I look down at her, watching myself slowly disappear into her mouth, almost exploding at the sight. She looks up at me for a few moments, her eyes dark and shiny in the dim light. Then she moans, way in the back of her throat, just "mmmmmmm." _This_ is why I don't want her to do this a lot—it is the absolute hottest thing in the world—the eyes, the noises, her incredible mouth…it's all too much.

Her eyes close and her hips start to rock.

Oh, dear God.

Her hips are undulating as she does this to me, pressing against the air, against nothing, her body desperately trying to find someone to fill the void. _This_ is too much.

I take hold of her hands, squeezing them almost violently. She looks up at me again, and I watch as I slowly slide out of her mouth. "Too much?" she asks breathlessly.

I nod my head weakly; she licks me from base to tip once more before sliding up my body. She pauses for a moment, taking a breast in each hand, trapping my erection between them, sliding up and down vigorously. I feel my eyes grow wide and my body goes completely tense—she's _definitely_ never done this to me before.

"Monica," I whimper—actually whimper—and she takes pity on me, releasing me, dragging her body up mine, my erection rubbing against her as she moves. She reaches my lips and kisses me slowly, and my hands go up to her head, my fingers tangling in her hair. Her delicate hand grasps me as she shifts her hips, and I feel her heat start to envelop me; I snap to attention, grabbing her wrist.

"Whoa, there. This isn't over yet. I believe it's supposed to be my turn."

"But I need you," she whispers.

"And you're gonna get me, but not before I have a little fun first." I shift my hips away from hers, hissing as the cool air hits me. I slide my fingers across her, into her, and she thrusts against my hand, moaning, burying her face in my neck.

I shift us, turning us so that she's on her back and I'm hovering over her. Slowly, I slide my fingers out of her and, unexpectedly to both of us, put them into my mouth. Her eyes grow wide and she jerks against me, her breath coming in short gasps. "Oh, my God," she whispers, and I'm relieved that she looks turned on; I've only ever seen that done in dirty movies and had no idea how it would play out in real life.

I bend down and kiss her stomach for a minute, paying attention to her belly button now. I look around, suddenly remembering the whipped cream, finding the cans lying side by side, temporarily forgotten. I pick one up, giving it a few shakes before filling her naval with it, my mouth cleaning it out, repeating it several time, her body moving against mine slowly.

Who would have ever suspected her belly button?

"You ready?" I ask softly.

"For what?" her voice is tight, strained.

I don't answer; instead, I spread a line of whipped cream just under her hips, spreading more across her pelvis. I nudge her thighs open a bit more, coating her, covering her, groaning at the sight. Part of me wants to go right for her center, wants to just attack and feel her body pulsate in response. But the other part of me wants to return the favor, to tease her the way she teased me. Carefully, I lean over her, cleaning off the safer areas first, her body still responding almost violently to me. Slowly, I move my mouth lower, avoiding her key areas, going to her inner thighs, squeezing whipped cream there, cleaning it off slowly. I feel her thigh muscles tense as she tries not lock them around my neck.

Slowly, so slowly, I lick her from bottom to top; she cries out, shoving herself against my face for a second. I lick her again, trying make sure I get all of the whipped cream, and I see her hands grab the comforter, her entire body writhing. I move my mouth a little to one side, clearing off the cream there before moving to the other side, my mouth moving slowly.

"Chandler," I hear her moan. I grab the canister again, spreading a line up her, my mouth following hungrily. I toss the canister to the side and wrap my arms under her thighs, attacking her with my mouth, my tongue working in tandem. Her hips move off the bed a little as I work, and I hum against her happily.

She asked me a while back why I enjoy doing this so much, and I couldn't really answer. I don't know that I could now, either, without sounding like an absolute pig. I could tell her that I love the way she tastes, which I do, but I think that would make her blush. But I know it has a lot to do with the amount of trust involved, the control she gives up in this moment.

I know she has control issues. Everyone knows she has control issues.

Letting me go down on her exhibits a kind of faith in me that I can't believe she has. Granted, the first time I did it, it was a surprise to both of us, but every time after that, I know it meant she was giving up a little part of herself, just a tiny bit, to let me do it.

It's an incredible sensation.

She always tells me that I don't have to do it, and I know that I don't. But I sure as hell _want_ to.

The thing is, and I've even told her this, is that I never really thought about it one way or another before her. I didn't mind doing it, and would definitely do it if the request was made. But with Monica…with Monica, it's different. I can't get enough of her. And it's so damn intimate. It's a level of intimate that I'm not usually comfortable with, which I suppose is why I've always been on the fence about it. I could do this to her for hours, though, it's that good. I could watch her body react to it, watch her face, listen to her moans, until I passed out from exhaustion if she'd let me.

And it makes her happy; it makes her body do amazing, unbelievable things that I just can't get enough of.

I shift a little onto my knees, still crouched low, pulling her hips off the bed, keeping my mouth on her. I feel like a dying man eating his last supper. A starving man finally getting a meal.

If it's possible to make love to someone with your mouth, that would be the best way to describe it. "Head" and "going down" sound almost too crude for it.

She makes an odd noise and I open my eyes; I realize that I've been slowly lifting her off the bed. Her legs are still wrapped around my neck, but everything from her shoulder blades down is in the air, held up only by my mouth and my arms wrapped around her thighs. Her eyes are wide as she pants, her hips still moving against me. I grin at her and pull her more tightly to my face, breathing in through my nose, my senses filled with only her.

Her eyes close as her head rolls to one side. "Ohhhhhhhh."

I wrap my lips around her and suck, and she screams, bucking against me. "Too much," she gasps. "Too much."

I relax my mouth on her and slowly, reluctantly, lower her to the bed, taking a few last lingering tastes before moving my mouth away, moving to kiss her hip. "Sorry," I mumble.

"Don't be sorry," she says breathlessly. "It was great. Just…"

"Too much," I finish for her, kissing her stomach tenderly for a few moments, stroking her sides, before propping my chin up on the bottom of her ribcage, watching her heaving chest slow down as her breathing evens out. "Wanna make love?" I ask her suddenly, testing the waters with that one; to my knowledge, I've never come out and said it, though I know we've done it. She's said it to me a couple of times, too, usually very tentatively, as if she's afraid it'll scare me off, which is fair. But all I can think about is how much I want to physically express what I feel for her, what I can't yet put into words, and making love feels like the best way to do it.

Her hand comes up to run through my hair, and it's hard to tell in the dim light, but I swear her eyes get a little teary. But she just nods and whispers, "Yeah."

I move up her body, keeping our eyes locked until we're face to face. I kiss her neck gently, moving from one side to the other, her hands sliding up my back as her knees bend around me to accommodate me. I take her face in my hands and kiss her slowly, tenderly, my heart pounding as she responds, her mouth still sweet from the whipped cream.

Her hips shift against me and I position myself at her entrance. I look at her and she nods, and I slide into her slowly, filling her, the sensation of being surround by nothing but Monica more intense every time.

My entire body tingles.

The amount of foreplay we put in tonight will probably make this a fairly short event.

She thrusts her hips against me steadily, setting a wonderful pace. I use all the control I have to stroke in and out of her in time with her, not wanting to rush this more than it already will be.

I press my forehead against hers, our breath coming out in the same short, labored gasps. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer. She holds me tight, our bodies a tangled mess of limbs.

I've never wanted anyone the way I want Monica. I've needed anyone the way I want her. Just looking at her makes me happy. It's not just lust, though there's plenty of that; it's things I can't describe.

It just feels so right.

"More," she whispers, and our hips speed up together, our bodies rubbing against each other, as close as two people can physically be.

My heart feels like it's going to break from the beauty of it all.

I press my lips against hers again for a few moments, our mouths opening to gasp for air a few moments later, our lips still connected.

Her body curls around mine and I thrust against her harder. She moans softly, her hand coming up to stroke my cheek, our eyes opening and meeting for a few moments; the expression in her eyes makes my entire body shiver, even though I don't know what it means. All I know is that no one has ever looked at me that way before.

I don't want anyone else to, either.

Her eyes flutter shut again as she starts to moan regularly, noises escaping her each time I thrust into her, her volume increasing with each motion.

I start driving into her quickly; her body goes slack for just a moment before she clutches at me even tighter, her fingers digging into my hips. "Yeah. Oh, yeah. Ohhh, yeahhhhh."

My beautiful girlfriend sounds like she should be a porn star, though I've never heard one of those women make a sound that could even come close to this, to the noises she makes every time we have sex.

I bury my face in her neck, breathing heavily, my hips moving almost out of control, and I groan into her soft skin. "God, Monica."

I feel her body tense only an instant before she flies apart in my hands, turning her head just a little as she screams out, avoiding shattering my eardrum. Her body convulses around me, her hips pulling at mine greedily, coaxing my own orgasm out of me a few moments later. I yell into her shoulder, clutching her tighter, moving against her relentlessly, her body still meeting mine thrust for thrust.

She lets out one final "ahhhhhhh" before her body gives out, and going limp beneath mine. I swallow heavily, my breathing still rapidly, and bring my lips to hers, kissing her tenderly. She makes soft noises in the back of her throat, her kisses gentle, sleepy.

"How about," I say, pressing my forehead to hers for a second, "we _not_ try to top this for seven months? I don't think I could take it."

She smiles, giving me a quick kiss. "Deal."

I go to move off of her, and her arms tighten around me. "No," she whispers.

"But I'll crush you."

"No you won't," she tells me, kissing my cheek. "Just stay like this for a little while."

"Your wish is my command," I whisper, kissing her neck as we settle into each other.

Do I love Monica?

That's easy—of course I do. I've loved her for a long time, just like she loves me.

But am I _in_ love with Monica…just the thought of it makes my heart start to pound in my chest.

I really have no idea.

But I think I'll get the chance to figure it out.

*A/N…just a quick note to say…this was a little tough to write, only in that I don't know if I got it right. As a straight chick, I've never done _that_ to a girl, so I don't know if I managed to get the description of the act down. But, I tried, so that's something.

Also, please go back and reread Chapter 15—when I uploaded it originally, the file was incomplete, though somehow miraculously cut off at what sounded like a stopping point. I've fixed it now, though, and there's a whole big chunk that's been added, and I think it's pretty good.


	17. Chapter 17

I look at the time on the VCR and sigh—it's after ten. Ross is _never_ going to leave.

I look over at him; he's sitting in my arm chair, staring at the TV, for once keeping his mouth shut about my choice of entertainment.

I look down at Chandler, who's sitting on the floor next to the couch, near me as I sprawl out, but not in an obvious way. We've been waiting hours for everyone to just go away and give us some privacy. Joey, naturally, is on a date; Phoebe finally went home about an hour ago, and I tried to convince Ross to be a gentleman and go with her, he didn't seem interested. Not that Phoebe needs protecting. Rachel is…at some sort of work thing. I stopped listening when I heard her say she was going to be gone for most of the evening.

Unfortunately, Ross seems to feel the need to hang out in my apartment while Chandler's here in some sort of act of solidarity, as if leaving him to hang out with just me is a fate worse than death. Like we weren't doing that for years before we started to date each other.

My life hasn't been the same since my brother moved in across the hall.

Or rather, my sex life hasn't been the same. We've had to go back to mostly sneaking around, even at Chandler's place. It's just absolutely _thrilling_ trying to sneak past my brother as he sleeps on his best friend's couch.

Not that I begrudge Chandler and Joey in the slightest for letting Ross move in with them for a while; it was incredibly sweet and kind of them to help out a friend. I just always forget what a pain in the ass Ross can be in such close quarters. Within a day he was driving Chandler up a wall with his humidifier and telling the guys to keep it down constantly. All I could do was listen sympathetically while he complained; Ross has never been easy to live with. How Chandler managed it for four years in college is still beyond me.

What's worse is that it's been weeks and Ross doesn't seem to be motivated at all to move out. In fact, he seems to be enjoying the company and the bachelor pad atmosphere.

Meanwhile, my libido is in tears.

Chandler's not doing much better.

Any opportunity that presents itself for us to be alone, we grab at it with both hands, even if it's just something like grocery shopping.

I suppose it'd be easier to just come clean with our friends but we're just not ready for the sort of barrage of questions that are sure to follow. Being able to be with Chandler without constantly being questioned about where he took me, what we did, how's it going…it's magical. Every single detail of Ross and Rachel's relationship was public knowledge, and I don't know that they were better for it. We were all too nosey and too involved; they had very little time that was just them.

I think that's what's been making me and Chandler work so well, though—we just get to be together, to get to know each other in this intimate, wonderful way without being under a microscope and without our friends pressuring us for answers about where we are with our relationship.

I turn my attention back to the TV, trying to look wildly engrossed in _Gilligan's Island_, hoping Ross will get bored watching old sitcoms and just _go away_.

Ross sighs and looks over at me, his face mopey.

"What?" I ask, irritation already crawling through me.

"Do we have to watch this?"

I try to count to ten before answering him—I only get to about four. "Ross—this is _my_ apartment. This is what _I_ want to watch. If you don't like it, you're free to leave. Chandler and Joey have a TV, too, as you recall."

"But no one's over there," he says in a small voice.

I blink at him; I see Chandler turn his face to Ross, too, and judging by his profile, he looks just as nonplussed as I feel. "Just to make sure I'm clear on this, you want _me_ to change the channel on _my_ TV to some documentary that _you_ and only you want to watch because you don't want to go watch it across the hall by yourself, even though if you somehow managed to convince me to change the channel, I would get up and leave, and Chandler wouldn't be that far behind?"

He turns back to the TV, looking terribly put out. "Fine."

"Dude, seriously," Chandler says. "Go watch TV at my place. Or, you know, if you really want to get crazy, _go find your own place_."

Ross clears his throat and stands. "You know what? I think I'll go watch TV across the hall. Maybe I'll turn in early."

"You do that," I tell him, rolling my eyes, feeling my heart start to pound in anticipation of being alone with Chandler.

He gets to the door and pauses, looking back at us. "Dude, aren't you coming?"

Chandler looks over his shoulder at him, lifting an eyebrow. "Nah. I'm gonna stay here for a while and abuse Monica for a while."

I keep my eyes trained on the TV, his meaning glaringly obvious to me, hoping Ross won't question it.

"You're weird," he finally says, and I hear my apartment door opening and closing. I hold my breath until I hear the door across the hall do the same; I stretch off the end of the couch as Chandler turns to me, our lips meeting frantically.

"I thought he was never going to leave," he mumbles into my mouth, turning around and kneeling so he can reach me better.

"When is he moving out?" I whisper, tugging at him so that his top half is pressed into mine on the couch.

"Never," he groans, pulling his lips from mine. "I'm trying to be supportive, Mon, but he won't even _look_ for a new place. It's like he doesn't even c_are_ if he finds a place."

I roll my eyes, stroking Chandler's hair consolingly. "He probably thinks you guys are having a great time, like it's college again."

"And you know, for the most part, it really isn't _that_ bad. I know he's going through a tough time, and it's not terrible having him around, but when he gets in one of those sulky moods…"

I nod, understanding exactly what he means. "I know. He can be impossible." I give his arm a tug and he slides on top of me. "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Yes, please," he whispers, grinning, kissing me once again. I shift a little, bending my knee so that he fits against me more comfortably. I feel his fingers at the edge of my shirt for a moment before his hand slides up my stomach. I feel him playing with the edge of my bra before he moves it aside, his fingers grasping me gently.

This feels like something out of high school—groping each other on the couch, hoping no one walks in on you.

At least, this is what I imagine it was like in high school. Didn't have much experience with that part.

His lips move to my neck, his body moving gently against mine, and I smile, running my hands down his back, my fingers tracing lines in the skin at the waistband of his pants.

"What time is Rachel going to be back?" he asks, his voice muffled.

"Mmmmmmm no idea. She said probably late."

He looks up at me and smiles. "So we have some time."

"A little bit," I answer, brushing the hair off his forehead. "What did you have in mind?"

"Stuff," he says, shifting his hips against me, his erection already pressing into me.

"Oh, _stuff_. Thanks for clearing that up."

"Shut up," he tells me, his lips finding mine again.

"I forgot my magazine."

My eyes fly open as I hear Ross's voice, having missed the door opening. I push at Chandler as he rolls off of me, landing on the floor. He flies into a sitting position, bending his knees to hide his arousal, taking deep breaths. I turn quickly onto my side, tugging my shirt down, running a hand through my hair, hoping like hell I don't look as turned on as I feel.

Ross appears next to me, rifling through the magazines on the end table. I look up at him for a moment, trying to feign interest before turning my attention back to the TV, my heart hammering in my chest. I'm pretty sure he didn't see anything; I would suspect he'd have a hissy fit of some sort if he'd caught us.

He moves over to the chair, finally pulling the magazine out from behind one of the pillows, flipping through the pages, and I feel my blood start to boil. I look down at Chandler and see he's actually shaking, and I'm pretty sure it's a combination of arousal and anger.

"You sure you want to stay over here, man?" Ross asks, still distracted by the pages in front of him.

"I think I'll pass on the dinosaur documentary, thanks." I'm sure Ross can't tell, but Chandler's voice is tight, barely under control.

"Suit yourself," Ross says, shrugging, turning to leave the apartment once again.

"'Night," I call out as the door shuts behind him. Chandler turns to look at me again, his nostrils flaring. "That was close," I whisper.

He leans forward and kisses me gently and I stand up, going to lock the door. "Won't Rachel think something's up?" he calls after me.

"We usually lock the door at night; I've just been leaving it open for you. If nothing else, I'll tell her Ross kept bugging me and I wanted to keep him out. She'll get that." I go sit on the couch again, reclining against the arm. "So what sort of 'stuff' were you thinking about?"

He slides his hand gently up my leg, tickling me through my jeans. "No foreplay?"

"Honey, we don't know what time Rachel will be home or if Ross will decide to come back over—I'd much rather skip the foreplay and go right to sex."

"Foreplay is one of the best parts."

I run my fingers through his hair affectionately. "And you're really good at it. Really, _really_ good. But the clock's ticking."

He leans up and kisses me, hauling his body onto the couch, kneeling in front of me. "Can I just ask you one thing before we start ripping off our clothes?"

"What's that?"

He softly traces a finger down my face, smiling at me gently. "Call me 'honey' again."

My breath catches in my throat and I feel my eyes go wide. "What?"

"You just called me 'honey'. You've been doing that on and off for a while now."

I knew I'd done it once or twice during our more intimate moments, but I didn't realize it was becoming a regular thing with me. I think I'm beginning to panic. "Uhhhh…umm…"

"You okay, Mon?"

I nod, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat. "You're okay with me calling you that?"

He slowly settles his body against mine, wrapping his arms around me. "Oh, yeah. I like it."

I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine, kissing him fiercely. Maybe it's not the biggest of deals, but it feels like a new form of intimacy. Terms of endearment feels bigger than seeing each other naked.

"Out of curiosity," I say in between kisses. "How often do I call you that?"

He shrugs, his hands sliding under my shirt again. "I haven't really kept track. Usually when we're alone together, though, you drop it every few minutes."

I can't help but feel a little mortified—shouldn't I notice that I'm calling him something else?

"Don't be embarrassed. I promise—I like it."

"You call me 'babe', you know," I blurt out, feeling as if I should try to level the playing field.

Instead of looking embarrassed, he just grins at me, giving me a quick kiss. "Do I? Maybe it's because you _are_ a babe."

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "You're so cheesy."

"That's me; cheesy Honey."

"Just…take off your clothes."

"You really know how to romance a guy, you know that, right?" he asks, pulling his shirt over his head regardless.

"I don't have to know how to romance anyway—I'm a babe, aren't I?"

He pulls my shirt over my head, dropping it to the floor next to us. "Touché." He looks down at my breasts longingly, actually licking his lips a little.

I sigh, trying to fight back my grin, reaching behind my back to unclasp my bra. "Fine."

He pulls the bra out of his way, dropping his mouth to a breast, his free hand going to the other. Limited time or not, it's hard to say no to someone who wants to worship your boobs.

He moves his mouth the other one, moving his hands to the button of my jeans, unzipping the fly, his fingers disappearing inside the edge of my panties.

So much for no foreplay.

He is right, though—this part _is_ pretty good.

I wiggle my hips, trying to slide my jeans down; he grabs the waistband and pulls with me, reluctantly releasing my breast as he leans back. I lift my legs straight in the air, his eyes widening a bit as he pulls my pants and underwear off, dropping them to the floor with the rest of my clothes. I bring my legs back down, wrapping them around his waist, pulling his mouth to mine, shivering at the way his pants feel against my naked flesh.

"Pants," I mumble around his mouth, my fingers unbuttoning them, my hands "accidently" brushing against his erection. He gasps at the contact, his forehead pressing against mine as he tries to catch his breath. I push his pants past his hips, my feet coming up to push them off the rest of the way. He shakes his leg, kicking them to the floor, and I slide my hands under the waistband of his underwear, pausing to look at him curiously.

"No boxers?"

He shrugs, pushing the underwear down his legs. "I need to do laundry."

"You know," I say, kissing him once more, "for as often as we say we're doing laundry, we might need to consider actually washing clothes once in a while."

"Maybe," he whispers, and suddenly we're skin to skin, and all other thoughts are gone. I rub myself slowly against his erection, moaning at the contact. His fingers grip into my back as he moves with me, his body shaking from trying to control himself.

I shift my hips up a little, and I can suddenly feel him at my entrance, so I move my hips down slowly, gasping as he fills me.

"God, Monica," he whispers, thrusting against me slowly, his lips moving lazily across my neck. "This isn't what I had in mind, you know?"

My brain, hazy with desire, tries to come back to earth. "What did you want to do?"

He stills his hips and I whine in protest, pushing against him. He rests his weight against my hips, stilling my movements, though he still feels incredible inside of me. "Well, feel free to say no to this because it's just a thought I had…"

I lift my eyebrow at him, waiting; his ideas have usually turned out pretty amazing.

"I've seen this in pornos."

I can't help but snort. "Of course you have."

"Laugh all you want, but I've gotten a lot our more satisfying positions from porn."

I find that hard to believe, but ask instead, "What sort of disgusting thing did you want me to do?"

He kisses me reassuringly. "It's nothing too outlandish, I promise. It's just a position I don't think we've really tried, and sitting on a couch might be the best way to do it."

I clench my inner muscles a little, partly because it feels really good, but mostly to watch him squirm. "I'm listening."

"You on my lap, facing away from me."

"Reverse cowgirl?"

"Sort of, but we'll both be sitting up. See? Told you it was nothing too dirty."

"Sounds kind of hot, though."

"It is, which is probably why they use it in porn—great for visuals. _But_," he adds quickly, probably as I'm making a face about the porn, "it's supposed to be phenomenal for G-spot stimulation."

He wraps his arms around me, pulling us both into a sitting position. "And you know this how?"

"I've been doing my research. I like to make you orgasm, and I want to know as many ways as I possibly can to make that happen."

I kiss him as I slide off his lap, standing beside the couch, waiting for him to get into position. "You're such a good boyfriend."

"I try," he answers, moving to the edge of the couch, planting his feet on the floor. I look at him, feeling awkward for a moment.

"How am I supposed to get on you?"

He leans back, patting the couch next to him. "Kneel here, then slide your leg over me." I follow his instructions, situating myself on his lap, feeling a little like one of the idiot women in a porno, asking how to have sex for the first time.

"Where should I put my feet?" I wasn't expecting to feel this ignorant of how to get into a sexual position, but for some reason, it's throwing me for a loop. I think he likes my confusion, though, because his hips thrust up against me as he groans.

"Wherever it's comfortable for you."

"How did you picture it?"

I feel his hands slide around my waist, skimming down my hips before settling on my thighs. "On the floor," he whispers in a strangled voice.

I drop my feet down, not quite reaching from this angle. He sits up a little, leaning forward, and my feet touch the ground. I slide my fingers up and down him gently for a few moments before I tilt my head back, whispering in his ear, "Ready?"

He nods and I lift myself up a fraction as I position, and he pushes his hips up to mine a moment later. My hands instantly reach down and grab his arms. "Oh, my God," I moan, my entire body aching from this in the best way possible. "How have we not done this before?"

"Because the basic positions seem to be working pretty well for us," he tells me as our hips meet again. "Why mess with a good thing?" His hands slide up me, grabbing my breasts, kneading them gently at first, gradually more urgently.

I lean against him, using my feet for leverage, pushing myself against him. "This is amazing," I gasp, my arms coming up to reach behind me, holding onto him.

My eyes flutter open for a moment; I notice that _Gilligan's Island_ is still on. "I don't think I can handle the Skipper watching us do this," I tell him, and I lean forward to grab the remote. The angle changes as I do, and I almost fall off of his lap as I cry out, then sensation unbelievable. I grab the remote and turn the TV off, flinging off to the side as I brace my hands on the coffee table, pushing my hips against his. His fingers dig into my thighs, his legs almost lifting me off the floor.

"Jesus," he groans. "You're like a living fantasy, you know that?"

My head falls forward, resting on the table for just a moment as my breath comes out of me in sob-like moans. I push myself up with a grunt, wrapping an arm around his neck, bringing our lips together. His hands spread across my torso, spanning me, holding me possessively. His fingers just barely graze me and I buck against him. He strokes me a few times and I suddenly feel like I'm falling apart, pushing myself against his hand as he rubs me frantically. I moan into his mouth, trying to muffle myself, aware that my voice could travel.

His thrusts slow as I come back down; I can feel my thighs shaking and he strokes my stomach softly. He kisses the side of my face, nuzzling my ear. "You okay?"

From anyone else, that would seem unbelievably cocky, assuming that one orgasm might do me in. But this is Chandler, and Chandler knows me, he knows my body, and he really knows how it feels after I orgasm, and I'm actually pretty shaky right now.

I nod, squeezing his hand. "Yeah. That was intense."

He tightens his arms around me. "Let me know when you're ready."

"Go for it," I tell him.

"You sure?"

I shift my hips, feel his arms tense. "Yeah."

We start rocking together again, slower this time, but it feels no less fantastic. My hips come off his slowly; he thrusts into me gently. My entire body shudders. He kisses my neck, biting at the base of it and I moan a little. My eyes open a little and I look out the window, noticing I can see our reflection in the glass.

"We should do this in front of a mirror," I breathe.

He comes to a complete stop, his hands freezing on me. "What?"

I push against him insistently, needing the contact. "This. We should have sex like this in front of a mirror."

"You'd do that?" His hips move against me, the pace suddenly much faster, his body reacting to my words.

"Hell yeah, I would." It's absolutely fascinating to watch this right now—I can't see all of our bodies, but I can see our faces. I almost can't even recognize mine, but Chandler has such a look of tense concentration, such bliss, such pure joy, I don't know how to process it.

All I know is that it does something to me—something intense—and I need him now. I brace my hands on the back of the couch and start moving against him as fast as I can. He groans, his hands sliding up to my breasts once more, squeezing me, and I cry out.

"You're so amazing," he whispers, taking my earlobe between his lips, sucking at it. I shiver, pushing my hips back against him faster.

"This is definitely stimulating my G-spot," I manage to gasp out, and I feel him chuckle a little against me.

"Good—that's what I like to hear." His hands spread out across me again, his fingers digging into my flesh. I clutch the back of the couch, throwing my head back against his shoulder. His hips start pounding into me suddenly and my entire body flies to attention, everything in me tense. He holds onto my hips, keeping me in place as he moves against me, something about not being to contribute making my body feel like it's going to fall apart at any second.

He presses his forehead against my back; I can feel how tense his body is. He's on the verge; he's holding back for me, waiting for me.

Something about knowing that is what does me in; I cry out, wailing, "Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ohhhhhh ohhhhh Gooooooooooooood," as my hands scramble around, trying to find something to hold on to, finally finding his hips as I convulse around him. He grunts a few more times as he hammers into before his arms wrap around me, pressing his mouth into my shoulder blade to muffle himself, his teeth scraping at my flesh, his body spasming violently for a few more seconds before going mostly slack, falling back against the couch, taking me with him.

We continue to undulate against each other slowly; I can feel tiny spasms coursing through his body. I wrap my arms on top of his, holding him close. He kisses the side of my face.

"Hey—is that sweat or are you crying?"

I bring my hand up to my cheek—tears. "Crying. Sorry. Don't know why."

He kisses my shoulder and pulls the blanket from the back of the couch around us. I turn my face to his and he kisses me softly, both of us still breathing heavy.

I do sort of know why I'm crying, though—all of these emotions are just too much to take sometimes. Lately, it feels like every time we have sex, it's much more than that, like there's some sort of deep, chemical bond that we're creating. I feel like he's the only person I ever want to do this with ever again. He touches me in ways that no one else ever has, and not just in a physical way. Even something as simple as looking up sexual positions that are good for me is such a deep, meaningful gesture—at least in my mind—that no other guy has ever considered doing for me.

I love him.

I love him so much it hurts. It's a good hurt, but it still hurts.

His lips move down to my neck, kissing me softly. "Would it kill the mood to ask if you'd be open to using a video camera sometime?"

I laugh loudly; I can't help it. "Yes, it would, but yes, I am open to it."

He shudders against me. "Give me another minute—just the thought of that alone will have me ready again in no time."

"Good," I answer as we kiss again, and he gives me a little squeeze, leaning his forehead against my temple, our eyes closing.

I hear the doorknob rattle and my eyes fly open, both of us jumping off the couch at the same time. I can hear Rachel on the other side of the door, mumbling to herself as she searches for her keys.

Chandler looks at me, panicked, and I start grabbing clothes. "Just go hide in my room," I hiss. He hesitates for a few seconds, his body trying to move in multiple directions at the same time, before he bolts for my bedroom.

I hear the key go into the lock and I look at the floor, grabbing my bra and Chandler's shirt, everything else already in my arms and dash across the floor into my room, Chandler grabbing me as I nearly crash into him. I see the front door start to swing open and I push the door shut as quickly as I can, only slowing just before it latches, turning the knob and pushing it shut carefully so it doesn't click.

"Mon?" I hear Rachel call from the living room, and I freeze, looking at Chandler, whose eyes are as big as saucers. I snap my fingers and point to the other side of the bed; fortunately, he takes the hint and tiptoes quickly around my bed, dropping to the floor. I yank back my blankets and slide into bed, waiting to see if Rachel will open my door or not, my heart beating wildly.

"Mon?" I hear again, this time at my door; I hold my breath.

A few seconds later, her feet shuffle away and I hear her door click shut. Chandler pokes his head up at me, his eyes still wide. I bite my lip, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, and I see his eyes crinkle at the corners, stifling his laughter into his arm. He crawls into bed next to me a moment later, our bodies shaking with suppressed laughter, and wrap our arms around each other. I press my ear against his chest, listening to his heart beat and he kisses the top of my head.

We'll probably have to wait a little while until we're sure that Rachel's settled for the evening, but that's okay.

I think I can handle being wrapped in his arms for a little while longer.

*A/N…and this is my interpretation of how Chandler's undies wound up in the couch at the beginning of TOW Ross's Sandwich. Because why not.


	18. Chapter 18

I sigh deeply and open my eyes, blinking into the hazy light of a December morning. I shiver, feeling cold just looking at the world outside. I wrap my arms more tightly around Monica, curling my body into hers, her back pressed tightly against my front. I press a kiss to the back of her neck and settle my head onto the pillow.

My life is so incredibly surreal. Sometimes, when I think too much about, I feel like it has to be a dream, or that I'm watching a movie of someone else's life, or I have a twin whose life is suddenly this amazing.

Monica is my girlfriend. "Girlfriend" sometimes sounds a little too trite for what we have, but if I say that Monica is my everything, I think that might be a bit much.

Even if it's the truth.

I don't think I could go back to a world where we're just friends. Hell, I don't know how I survived in a world like that before. Being with her feels so right.

She fits against me perfectly when we sleep, all of her curves molding against me. It's amazing how little effort it took for this to be comfortable—usually, trying to sleep next to someone new requires a period of adjustment as you try to figure out who has to sleep on their side, or who kicks, or who snores. But with Monica, it just works. With Monica, I don't feel the need to have my own space when I sleep anymore. In fact, I find it much harder to sleep alone these days.

She's good for me. I mean, she's always been good for me, but now it's even better. The connection we've had for years is deeper, more powerful…enough to knock the wind out of me sometimes.

Something happened with us last night—I can't quite put my finger on it, and I'd hate to bring it up in case I'm reading it wrong, but it feels sort of like she gave herself to me.

That seems a little weird, but that's what it felt like. That outfit she wore—holy God, that amazing teddy with all the ribbons…she looked like she'd been gift wrapped just for me. And she was so nervous about it; it took me a while to get what was going on because, let's face it, when Monica's near me in very little clothing, I'm not really able to concentrate on much else. My subconscious had to piece that one together for me.

Imagine my shock when I discovered that it didn't freak me out in the way it usually would. Sure—I live in a constant state of fear that she's going to wake up one morning, shocked to see me next to her in bed, and kick me out while she runs as fast as she can in the other direction.

I hope like hell that's never the case, but it's definitely a fear of mine.

But she seems happy. She seems really happy. The way she looks at me now…sometimes I don't know what to do with myself. I'm surprised that no one else has caught on to us yet, actually, because I feel like we can't possibly be hiding how we feel about each other that well. If nothing else, the fact that neither of us have dated anyone in months should be cause for suspicion.

This woman, though…this woman is incredible. I've never known another woman so ready for sex at almost any given moment, who is constantly buying fancy underthings just for me to see, who is willing to try kinky stuff, or use food products, or have sex in public. And that's just part of it. When we sit together—on the couch, at the coffeehouse, wherever—she leans into me a little just so we can be closer. She'll walk past me and just run a finger across my shoulders just to touch me. She puts up with my stupid jokes and awkward moments, and she actually seems to think I'm funny. She put a turkey on her head to cheer me up.

But, best of all…she smiles when she sees me. Her eyes light up and her face breaks out into a grin—sometimes big, sometimes not, depending on who's around us. It's not just that she's happy, but that _I_ seem to make her happy. Despite the fact that I'm horrible at relationships and sometimes I think I truly have no business ever attempting one, we seem to be making it work, and she's just happy.

Personally, I've never been this happy in my life. My heart races every time I look at her—I would have thought that would go away or fade, but not yet. I hope it never stops.

She mumbles something suddenly and clears her throat; I wait to see if she's waking up or just dreaming. A few moments later, she mumbles again and turns around in my arms, burying her face in my chest. Her arms slide around my waist and I feel her lips against the hollow of my throat, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face. Waking up with her is one of the best parts of my day.

"Good morning," I say softly, stroking her back gently.

"Yes, it is," she answers, and I can feel her lips curving into a smile. "It was a good night, too."

I press a kiss to the top of her head; it really was a good night. "Which time?"

She chuckles against me, her whole body shaking. "Hmmm. Good question. How many times did you wake me up?"

"Just twice. As I recall, you woke me up once."

"I would never. A girl's gotta get her beauty rest."

I can't help the scoff that escapes me. "Yeah; beauty rest is totally something _you_ need."

She finally tilts her head back, smiling at me, her eyes bright. "Thank you. You know, we should both be pretty exhausted right now; we didn't really get a lot of sleep and it's still pretty early."

"We can sleep when we're dead," I tell her, finally capturing her lips in a kiss. She moans softly, her body molding against mine more firmly, her leg sliding gently against mine. I feel my body respond to hers, part of me amazed that I can go again. "You want to?" I ask between kisses.

She nods, smiling, her leg draping over my hip, and I let out a shuddery sigh.

"Do we have time?" I whisper.

"It's only seven," she answers, her lips leaving mine to slide down my neck, her fingers kneading circles in my back. "It's the day after Christmas, _and_ it's a Saturday. Rachel won't be up for a while, and Ross is supposed to go over to Carol and Susan's to spend some time with Ben. I think we'll be okay for a little while."

It doesn't take much to convince me. I roll onto my back, pulling her with me. She brings her lips back to mine, and we kiss slowly, leisurely, as if we have all the time in the world. She pushes her hips gently against mine and I shudder, my fingers digging into her back. This shouldn't happen—I shouldn't be able to get this turned on by this woman this often. But all I want is to be with her, to make her happy.

She shifts her hips again, sliding a hand in between us, capturing my erection. A moment later, she sinks down on top of me, both of us making soft noises at the contact. We both know we have to be quiet right now—Rachel can be like a dog with a bone once she gets an idea in her head, and the last thing we need is her sniffing around because she hears something.

Monica lifts her head and looks at me; I push her hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as her hips start to move against me and my breath catches in my throat. I can't get enough of looking into her eyes while we do this; it's unbelievably intense and so erotic.

"Chandler," she whispers, and I thrust up against her quickly a few times; her breath comes out in short gasps and she bites her lip, trying to keep quiet. She braces her hands next to my head, lifting herself off me just a bit, her hips rotating against me slowly, tiny moans escaping her lips despite her best efforts. I lift my head a bit, kissing her chest, sucking gently at her soft skin; I can feel her heart thumping beneath my lips.

She drops back down to me, our lips seeking each other out; I slide my hands down to her ass and she shudders, her fingers digging into me again for a second, her hips losing control for a few moments before she slows down again, moving against me gently.

"Are you trying to kill me?" I whisper, and her eyes pop open, looking down into mine. She looks so serious. She licks her lips as a couple of high-pitched noises escape her lips. I run my hands up her back again, caressing her sides, feeling her body twitch in response.

She sits up suddenly, pulling at my arms, her hips still undulating against mine. I sit up with her, wrapping my arms around her; her ankles cross at the small of my back. "The bed'll make less noise this way," she says softly.

I take her face in my hands, gazing into her eyes. "You're incredible," I gasp, and I feel her quiver around me, her inner muscles pulling at me.

"I love doing this with you," she tells me, moving her hips against me faster, and I groan into her shoulder. I don't know what brought that on, but I certainly wasn't expecting it. I feel my heart beat faster and I pull her closer. I swallow heavily; her nails dig into my shoulder blades, her breathing heavy in my ear. I can tell by the way her hips are moving that she's not going to last much longer. Any time we have to try to hold ourselves back, especially when Monica has to be quiet, sex winds up being intense in a different way. All the feelings have to come out in differently, and it usually equals a fairly quick session for us. It's an interesting tradeoff.

She buries her face in my neck; I can hear her making tiny noises, her entire body shaking from the effort. I dig my fingers into her hips, holding her still, pushing into her as fast as I can. A few moments later, her limbs tighten around me, a low moan escaping her anyway, my hands relaxing their grip as she thrusts against me violently, and I let myself go, getting us as close to simultaneous as I can.

She breathes heavily against me, her hips slowing down, her body still wrapped around mine. I kiss her shoulder, holding her tighter, never wanting to let her go. "Can we wake up like this every morning?"

She laughs shakily against me, lifting her head to smile at me. "I don't think we'd ever get anything done if we did this _every_ morning." She kisses me, and it's filled with promise and contentment. "But don't you think it's about time you considered calling in sick again so we can spend all day in bed together?"

"Mmmm, yeah." I cup her face, kissing her softly. "I haven't done that in at least a month."

"December has been busy," she agrees, rubbing her cheek softly against mine.

"We'll make time for it. Soon."

We hold each other like that for a while—it's not many mornings we actually get to do this, and even now it's kind of risky. She's worth it, though. _This_ is worth it; wrapped up in the arms of the woman of my dreams, the woman who has fulfilled all of my fantasies and then some. She's perfect.

I sigh against her and kiss her neck. "I should go soon."

If possible, she wraps herself around me tighter. "No."

"I don't want to, but people will start coming over at some point, and they'll probably question why we're in bed together, naked."

"Can't you just put your pajamas back on and stay here? You can go sit in the living room while I make breakfast—no one will ever know."

"That's the best offer I've had in a while. You don't mind?"

She leans back, giving me a look. "Does it seem like I'm ready for you to leave? We finished having sex, like, ten minutes ago, and I'm still on your lap."

"That's a good point." I lean forward and kiss her. "But I don't have a toothbrush over here."

"So use mine," she tells me, shrugging, and I can't help but feel incredibly surprised.

"Really? Share a toothbrush?"

"Honey, think about where you so frequently put your mouth when we're naked." I grin a little at the thought of it. "Now think about the fact that I let you kiss me after that." I nod, suddenly feeling a little smug. "Do you really think that sharing my toothbrush would be weird to me after that?"

"I guess when you put it that way…if you're sure."

"If it keeps you here a little longer, then I'm sure." She gives me another kiss, and I chase her lips as she tries to pull away, capturing her briefly. She slides off my lap; I feel very chilly all of a sudden. "I'm gonna go scope out the place first; make sure that no one's around. I'll come back in a few minutes when I know the coast is clear." She goes to her dresser, pulling out a pair of underwear and pajamas, before grabbing her robe off the pile of clothes on the floor. She comes back over to me as she shrugs the robe into place, leaning over to grab my face. She studies me for a few moments before sighing and kissing me again.

"I'll just go commando," I finally say, trying to break the heavy mood. "Then you can try to deal with the knowledge that just underneath my snowman pajama pants there's only me."

"Oh! But there's—" She cuts herself off, suddenly looking embarrassed.

"There's what?"

She sighs, hanging her head. "There are few pairs of your boxers in my underwear drawer."

I absolutely cannot help the grin that spreads over my face. Yes; I've been keeping some of her underwear at my place, partially because I'm a little bit of a pig, but also because…well, it's nice having something of hers over there, even if it's just panties. But I had no idea she was keeping anything of mine over here. Though I guess that would explain, when I've had to hurry out of here and later couldn't remember what happened to my boxers, where they went. Interesting.

She tightens the robe around her waist, going to her bedroom door. "And, you know, if you happen to see a few t-shirts in there that look familiar, they're definitely _not_ yours and I totally did _not_ hang on to them. I just like to shop in the men's department from time to time." With that, the door closes behind her, and my smile manages to grow even larger.

Cautiously, I stand up and head over to her underwear drawer, which, amazingly, I've never rifled through. I only know what's in there because I've seen what she pulls out. I open it slowly, sort of feeling like I've found the holy grail as her undies come into view. Not shockingly, they're all folded nice and evenly. I peek in a little farther; in the back is the fancy stuff she's bought to wear for me. A pleasant shiver runs down my spine at the sight of it all. But there, nestled right next to her lacy little thongs, are several pairs of my boxers and at least half a dozen t-shirts. My heartbeat speeds up a little at that—I know it's just underwear, but it looks kind of nice all co-mingled like that.

I realize I have no idea how long I've been staring at this sight and hurriedly grab a pair of underwear, sliding the drawer shut behind me. I pull on the boxers and find my pajamas under her bed; I'm just tugging up the pants when she walks back into the room, smiling at me.

"The coast is clear," she whispers, wrapping her arms around my neck, kissing me. I pull back a moment later, suddenly aware of how bad my breath must be compared to hers, which is now minty fresh. I purse my lips and point at my mouth, hoping she'll understand. She just rolls her eyes and pokes her head out her room again, gesturing to me to follow. I tiptoe across the apartment into her bathroom, easing the door shut behind me. As I pee, I can hear her futzing about in the kitchen, probably making coffee—I'm sure we'll both need lots of it today.

I go to brush my teeth, forgetting my concern about figuring out which brush is hers when I see she's left it on the edge of the sink, loaded up with toothpaste.

This woman is too much.

I pick up the toothbrush, staring at it cautiously for a moment—I've never shared someone's toothbrush before. Shouldn't it be kind of gross?

But I suppose she's right; if I'm willing to go down on her, using her toothbrush shouldn't be that weird. It _is_ intimate in a while different way, though.

I sigh and shrug, brushing my teeth, and somehow…it's not that weird.

A few minutes later, I shuffle out of the bathroom and into the kitchen; Monica grins at me out of the corner of her mouth and I know what she's thinking—this is what it'd be like if we weren't in hiding. I have to admit—I don't hate it.

We've both been back and forth about coming clean to our friends for some time now. It's tough to act like we're just friends all the time, but we both realize that telling our friends about us will open us up to joking and mocking and ridicule, and that's just when they're being friendly. So, for now, until we're completely sure that telling everyone about us is the best thing to do, we're going to stay as we have been.

A secret.

She silently hands me a cup of coffee then glances over at Rachel's closed bedroom door. I follow her gaze for a moment and shrug. I look at her lips before leaning down, kissing her softly. She sighs against me before we pull apart, and we nod at each other. I go sit down on the couch, picking up a magazine, while Monica goes about cooking breakfast.

I hear Rachel's door click open suddenly, and force myself not to look up from my reading.

"Morning, Mon. Oh—morning, Chandler."

I look up for a moment, trying my damndest to be casual. "Hey, Rache."

"What're you doing here?" she asks, moving across the apartment to the kitchen.

I search my mind in a panic, suddenly coming up blank, when my eyes land on the mug in my hand. "I smelled coffee."

I see Rachel nod out of the corner of my eye. "That's what did it for me, too." I see Monica hand her a mug as well, and Rachel smiles gratefully.

"Hey, Mon," she says as she's about to head into the bathroom, coffee still in hand.

"Yeah?" To her credit, she barely looks up from the bowl of eggs she's whisking.

"Are you all right?"

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

Rachel just shrugs. "I thought I heard you moaning last night."

I bite the inside of my lip, staring at the magazine page in front of me, no idea what it says, when I realize that it might look even fishier if I don't seem concerned with my friend's wellbeing. I look up, hoping my expression is concerned even though I can feel my heart pounding.

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Uh…I think I ate too much Christmas junk yesterday. I had a little stomach ache last night. Sorry if I kept you up."

Rachel just shakes her head. "You're fine. I wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not, anyway." With that, she closes the bathroom door behind her, and I look over at Monica, who's biting her lip to keep from laughing.

"I hope you're feeling better, Mon," I tell her, my face splitting into a grin.

"I'm feeling much better," she assures me, her smile matching mine. "Thank you." She tiptoes over to me, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. "Multiple orgasms will do that to a girl," she whispers before going back to breakfast.

I shiver and go back to the magazine in front of me; I still have no idea what the page in front of me says.

I think the woman is trying to kill me.


	19. Chapter 19

I knock on the hotel room door a little nervously, wondering what this is all about.

When I got to work today, I found a note pinned to the inside of my chef's jacket, asking me for a clandestine meeting. Everyone said they saw nothing, heard nothing, know nothing.

…It actually said "clandestine."

I'm still trying to figure out how Chandler got a note in my jacket at work.

I glance around the hallway as I wait—it's a nice place, at any rate.

Not that Chandler would want me to meet him someplace seedy.

I wrack my brain, trying to figure out if I've forgotten some sort of anniversary or event. Definitely not our anniversary—we won't hit eight months for another couple of weeks.

That almost knocks me off my feet. Eight months. I've been with this man for eight months: my longest and definitely my healthiest relationship ever, even if we are still in hiding.

I tap on the door again and it finally creaks open, Chandler filling the gap, smiling at me, blocking my view of the room behind him. "Hey."

"Hi," I answer, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. I stand in silence, waiting for an explanation while he grins at me. "So…you gonna invite me in or what?"

He takes my hand, opening the door a bit more to pull me through, his arms going around me as soon as I cross the threshold. He kisses me slowly, deeply; I hear the door click shut behind me as I wrap my arms around his waist. I don't know what this is about, but I don't hate it.

We come up for air, but he keeps me close, smiling down at me. I still can't see the room behind him. "Seriously, Chandler—what's going on? You have something you need to tell me?" I gasp dramatically. "Are you pregnant?"

He chuckles, kissing my nose. "No, but I'm over twenty years late—I should probably get that checked. Anyway, we haven't been able to get a lot of time alone together lately, and I thought it'd be nice to sort of get away for the night. Or at least a few hours; whatever you can swing. And if we're here, we don't have to worry about roommates or brothers or anything but us."

"Sounds great," I answer, kissing his throat. "But why won't you let me see the room?"

"Ah, that. Well, I guess I needed to preface all of this by saying that I'm good with just hanging out for a while—if you're not in the mood for sex, that's totally fine."

"And if I _am_ in the mood for sex?"

"Well…there's a couple of things we've talked about doing…"

"Such as?"

"Well, you know, there was the mirror thing you suggested."

My body tingles at the thought of it, my heart rate jumping, both turned on and a little nervous.

"And there was the video camera thing that got interrupted…"

"So…you're proposing we videotape ourselves having sex in front of a mirror?"

"It's too much, isn't it?"

I pause for a moment, actually considering his question, before I shake my head. "I could be persuaded."

He pulls back a bit, staring at me. "Really?"

I shrug a little. "We could at least try."

"Okay, well…come on in." He lets go of my waist so I can walk into the room a little farther—he's kind of gone all out. Candles are scattered across the room, casting everything in a soft, dreamy light. On the floor in front of the bed is a pile of pillows and a couple of blankets, ones that I recognize from our apartments. A camera is aimed at the general bed area; another one is facing the opposite direction, pointed at a large mirror on the wall, a mirror that's pretty standard in hotels across the country.

I feel his hands on my shoulders, pulling off my heavy winter coat. A moment later, he hands me a glass of wine, bending down to kiss my cheek. "You okay?"

I nod, even though I suddenly feel a little nervous. I don't know why—I certainly wasn't nervous the last time we tried to make a home movie. I haven't really been nervous in bed with Chandler since maybe our first couple of nights together; I don't know why that would happen now.

"I know what you're thinking," Chandler says, an arm sliding around my waist. "We haven't always had the most luck with hotel rooms. That's why I got here early. I got one of the ladies in housekeeping to help me out—we made sure the place was spotless. The carpet has been vacuumed several times, I put new linens on _myself_, all of the water glasses have been removed, and the fluffy robes hanging up in the bathroom were fresh out of the dryer."

I feel myself relax, my nerves instantly gone. This man is too much. He went through all of that trouble just for me. Instead of risking another meltdown like the first time we tried to go away together, he came and cleaned the room himself.

I grin as I turn to face him, clinking our glasses together. "Thank you," I whisper.

He gives me a peck on the lips, smiling back. "You're welcome."

I take a sip of my wine, reaching out to stroke his stomach. "Are the cameras already running?"

He grins at me crookedly, nodding. "Yeah. That's what took me so long to answer the door."

"So…we're sort of making our own porno?"

"I guess that's one way to look at it."

I slide my fingers up his chest slowly. "So, who am I? Am I a college student and you're my professor, and I need this to get a good grade? Are we—"

He takes my hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss the palm before holding it against his chest. "How about we're just Monica and Chandler? Two people who have the most mind-blowing sex in the world and just can't get enough of each other."

My heart takes off at a gallop; this isn't about fantasy. Sure, it's adventurous and a little kinky, but it's not about being someone else for the night. He wants us to be us, and makes me feel more…everything than anything else could. I stand on tiptoe once more, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my lips to his.

I love this man so much.

He shifts us back a little, and I hear his wine glass land on the bedside table. He takes mine from me, putting it next to his, both of his arms going around me; his hand fists in my sweater, bunching it up around my ribcage, and I moan softly into his mouth. I grab the hem of his shirt and tug it up. He pulls his mouth from mine for a moment, yanking it over his head. He gives me a quick kiss before pulling off my sweater, and I have a brief moment of panic as I try to remember what underwear I'm wearing. Does it even match?

My sweater drops to the floor, his hands coming to rest high up on my sides, his thumbs gently stroking the sides of my breasts through my bra and I give myself a quick glance—the blue one. Underwear indeed matches. Not that it matters a whole lot, but if it's going to be on camera, I'd prefer it looked a little cute.

Though, lately, all of my undergarments have been, at the very least, cute. It's a lot more fun to wear stuff like that when you know that someone's going to be around to appreciate it.

He gently sits me on the bed, kneeling in front of me, his hands sliding up one pant leg, then the other, pulling off my boots and socks. I put my hand on his shoulder, pulling at him, and he climbs on top of me, smiling at me as his lips meet mine.

He seems especially happy tonight.

We kiss for a long time, our hands gently roaming over each other, soft moans and whispers filling the room. We _never_ get to do this; even with Joey knowing about us and covering for us, our time to just lie around and kiss has always been severely limited. It's like our friends have a sixth sense for when Chandler and I want to spend time together.

Slowly, I move my hands down to the button of his jeans, fiddling with it for a moment. "This must be getting uncomfortable," I whisper, sliding my hand over his erection a couple of times, feeling his body jerk against me.

He presses his forehead against mine, breathing heavily. "Monica," he gasps, his hands framing my face for a minute before he hauls himself to his knees, deftly unzipping his pants, pushing them down his legs. He stands for a moment, pants disappearing completely, and I prop myself up on my elbows.

His fingers gently dance across the skin of my stomach, trace the edge of my belly button, before the fly of my own jeans pops open and he's sliding them down my legs, tossing them on top of his. He climbs back on top of me, settling his weight against me once more, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. He slides a hand into my hair, finding the clip that's holding it up and pulling it free. I give my head a little shake, making sure all the hair is loose, his fingers massaging my scalp.

"Curly," he says softly. "I like it like this."

Why does that seem more inmate than so many other things?

Maybe it's because it means he notices the little things about me.

He presses his lips to mine again, our bodies moving slowly against each other.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispers to me, and I feel my breath catch in my throat for a second. His hands slide around my back, unclasping my bra, lifting his body off of me just enough to remove the article, adding it to the pile on the floor.

My body starts to shake just a little; he's looking at me so seriously, so longingly. I stroke his cheek gently, trying to control my reaction to him, my heart still pounding.

He smiles a little, kissing his way down my neck, my chest, my stomach, his fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties, pulling them down my legs as his lips trail down my legs. My chest constricts for a moment, the rest of my body tensing, wondering what his next move will be. He kisses back up to my knee, pausing, and I take a peek at his face. He looks like he's thinking hard.

I give his arm a nudge with my foot. "I can smell your brain cells burning."

He reaches up and flicks my hip. "Just weighing my options."

"Well, as much fun as you have down there, and as much fun as _I_ have when you're down there, it won't offer much in the way of visuals as far the mirror-thing goes."

He slides back onto the bed, pulling me against him, my back pressed against his front. "You're smart," he whispers.

I look up and can see us—mostly me—reflected in the mirror. I shudder for a moment, closing my eyes. I like the idea of it, but I don't think I'm ready to see it just yet.

I feel his lips on my neck, nipping at me gently; his hand slides across my body, his fingers grazing me, making me jump. He caresses me gently for a few minutes, his hand on my stomach, my hips, my thighs, nudging my legs apart, draping one of them over his, before I feel his fingers slide into me. I gasp at the contact, pushing my hips against his hand.

His other arm slides underneath me, wraps around me, his hand finding its way to my breasts, squeezing in time with the motions of his other hand. My back arches away from him a little, my hips pressing into him, undulating gently. I hook my foot around his calf, getting a bit more leverage.

"You should see this, Mon," Chandler breathes.

I open my eyes, looking up at his face, bypassing the mirror. A shiver passes through his body, his erection pushing into my back insistently, his hand moving against me more firmly. I slide an arm under his, grabbing onto his shoulder. "What do you see?" I whisper, and he presses his forehead against my temple for a moment as he breathes into my ear. I can feel his heart pounding against my back.

"You," he answers. "You're so amazing."

I moan a little, propping myself up on one arm, my lips seeking his, his head tilting to meet mine. I break away a few moments later, gasping, and dare to look at the mirror. I avoid my face, but follow Chandler's arm, down to his hand, watching his fingers massaging me, disappearing into me over and over and…

It turns out that I'm a very visual person.

My body goes taut as I gasp a few times before my hips rock against his hand; my fingers dig into his shoulder, my other hand clutches at the blanket beneath us. His grip around me tightens as I moan into his arm, his fingers within me keeping their steady rhythm, my hips doing the work for us.

I take a few shuddery breaths as my body starts to slow down; he strokes me gently a few more times before withdrawing his hand and I sigh, slumping against him for a moment. He shifts his weight back a little and I fall against the bed. A moment later his body is covering mine, his lips on mine, his arms cradling me. I bend a knee, and he rests more fully against me, only his boxers separating us.

I drag my fingers up and down his spine a few times as he pushes the hair off my forehead, his hands framing my face. We stare at each other for a few moments, breathing heavily, before our lips fuse together.

I push him onto his back and sit up, bracing my hands on his chest, tracing tiny patterns with my fingers. "What do you want to do?"

His hands hold my hips gently, his fingers kneed my flesh. I watch his throat move as he swallows, his pupils dilated as he watches me.

I bend down and kiss him for a moment before sliding off him, tugging his boxers off his legs. My heart flutters as he lays there, his eyes still on me.

"Sit up," I tell him, and he does, scooting to the edge of the bed, his hands reaching out for me, pulling me to him. I stand in between his legs, kissing him, leaning into him, and I can feel his erection twitching against me. I rest my forehead against his for a second before I crawl onto the bed next to him. He leans back a little as I straddle his thighs, facing out, his hands going to my hips to help guide me.

I turn my focus back to the mirror; I watch as I take him in my hand and slowly sink down onto him.

It's almost too much.

For both of us, from the sound of it. My head drops back against his shoulder as I groan; I feel his hands slide across my stomach, his hips moving frantically for a few moments before I feel his lips on my neck, his breath heavy against me. I keep my knees braced on the bed, knowing that I'll get no leverage from the floor.

"You okay?" I whisper, my voice sounding strangled.

His hands go back to my hips and he nods. "Yeah." He shifts against me a little and I push back against him. I put my hands on the bed as I tilt back, keeping myself upright as we move against each other slowly.

I realize my eyes are shut, lost in sensation; I open them slowly, daring to look back to the mirror, completely fascinated by what I see.

I've never really been into porn. I know that's a terribly female thing to say, but it's the truth. I don't care that guys like it—hell, I don't care that Chandler watches it, but watching thirty-year-old women try to pass themselves off as "barely legal" does absolutely nothing for me. Watching women act like airheads while they fake-moan isn't exciting. Like Chandler's said, though; guys are visual creatures. It works for them.

But watching this, watching the two of us…it does things to me I never imagined. Watching him disappear into me as I feel it happen, the way his fingers dig into my skin, the look of concentration and desire on his face…this act that always feels so spectacular with him feels even more amazing as I watch it happen. Part of me keeps screaming that this is dirty—I shouldn't be watching this, and I certainly shouldn't be this turned on while watching it, but it's us. He makes me feel things that I didn't know were possible.

His head disappears as he falls against the bed, still gripping my waist, holding me steady as he moves against me faster, harder, and I have to close my eyes again, the visual stimulation too much.

His hips slow as he sits up, his lips against my shoulder blade. "God, Mon…I need…I…"

I stop moving against him, regulating my breathing as best I can. "What?"

"I need to lean against something," he breathes.

I chuckle a little, turning my head to kiss him. "Is that all?" I shift off him, and he whimpers as the cool air of the hotel room hits him. He looks at me for a moment, waiting, and I can tell that all of his blood has been redirected south, leaving nothing for his poor brain. "Floor," I whisper, gesturing to the little makeshift bed he created before I got there.

He slides down onto the floor and I kneel next to him, placing a hand on his cheek as I kiss him gently. He moans against my mouth, one of his hands going to the back of my head, keeping my lips in place. I crawl back onto him, making sure to watch this part again, my entire body tingling with anticipation. I glance up as I start to sink onto him, our eyes locking in the mirror, and I feel like I'm about to combust. I force myself to keep the contact—my entire body starts to tremble. It's so intense, and I don't know why.

His hands slide up my body, cupping my beasts, and I feel like I'm going to fall over; his hands on me are the only things keeping me upright. I lean back against him, grabbing onto his hands, and start to move again. My eyes roll back into my head for a minute as I moan; I swallow heavily and force my eyes open, watching him again, watching us.

I seriously have never seen anything so perfect in my entire life.

He keeps his motions slow; I can tell by the look on his face that he's completely fascinated, and that's probably the only thing keeping his body in check.

"This is incredible," he breathes.

"Yeah," I moan, my voice high-pitched. I move against him a little faster, rocking my hips back and forth, feeling his hands tense on me, his own body shaking.

My eyes shift, focusing on my own face for just a few seconds, and I let out a yell, falling forward, catching myself on my hands. I rest my head against the floor for a minute before I look back up, letting out an, "ohhhhhhhh," as I see him looking at me, completely rapt.

I dare to look at my face again, a shudder running down my spine; I can only maintain that for a few seconds before it's too much. The look on my face, the face reflecting back at me…it scares the hell out of me. I'm hiding nothing from him. Everything I feel for him is written there, plain as day.

How can he not know? Just by looking at my face right now, how can he not know that I love him? That I love him so much that I can't see straight half the time? That he's everything to me?

How can he not know?

How is it possible that everyone doesn't know?

That's the face of a woman in love; it's like nothing I've ever seen before.

I don't even look like me, at least not the "me" that I'm used to seeing.

I look different.

Maybe it's because I _am_ different, at least I am now.

I glance up again; he's staring at me, watching me intensely. I stretch out my arms, my fingers grasping at the edge of the blanket, my head falling forward again. "Ohhhhhhhh, ohhhhhhh Goooooood." I push myself against him harder.

"Look at me, Monica." His voice is gentle, but demanding, and I return my gaze to his, thrusting against him faster.

Suddenly, his grip on me tightens, holding me still, and he pulls out of me, moves away from me, and I groan in protest. "Where are you going?"

"Turn over," he whispers. I groan again, unable to get my body to cooperate.

"Please, Chandler. Please."

He gently grabs my thigh and gives me a little push, and I roll onto my back, knees bent, my hands automatically reaching out for him. He leans over me, kissing me softly, his lips trailing down my chest, suckling at my breasts only briefly before he rests his weight on top of me, taking my face in his hands, kissing me again. He shifts his hips and a moment later he pushes inside of me, and even though I've felt it hundreds of times by this point, it still makes me gasp out. I will never get tired of this feeling, of being one person for just a little while.

"You won't be able to see anything in the mirror," I whisper, running a hand through his hair.

He just shakes his head, smiling at me. "I don't need a mirror for this." He starts to move against me, pushing into me, and I arch into him, moaning. This how I like us best—face to face, chest to chest. All those other positions feel great and I'm never opposed to them, but this…

Oh, my God, this.

Nothing else in the world can compare to this.

We started in a hotel room almost eight months ago, and I remember telling myself not to fall in love with him. I repeated it like a mantra to myself.

I failed miserably.

I could feel it then, though. I knew after one night that falling in love with Chandler would be the easiest thing in the world. I fought it for as long as I could, I tried to push it back, but he was already there. He's been in my heart for a long time. He's such a part of me that I can't imagine my life without him and now…hell, I don't know where he ends and I begin half the time. It's not that _just_ he's a part of me—he _is_ me. He's the part of me that's been missing my whole life.

I wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize it.

Everything has been so much better since Chandler and I became "us."

I feel tears welling up in my eyes and mentally curse myself. It feels like every time we have sex lately I start to cry. It's just that I feel so much for him, and I'm so afraid to tell him that I love him, it has to come out somewhere. Unfortunately, it's usually in tears.

Happy tears—the happiest tears in the world—but tears nonetheless.

I bury my face in his neck as we rock back and forth, my moans muffled by his throat. His arms tighten around me, he moves against me faster, and I'm suddenly on the verge, my orgasm right there, waiting for just a little push.

"Monica," he half whispers, half moans, and I lift my head to look at him; I gasp. I swear there are tears in the corners of his eyes, too. Maybe it's sweat; maybe it's my imagination. But it's enough.

My hips start to jerk unsteadily; I feel a like a thread instead of me snaps, and I'm falling apart. I'm suddenly completely overwhelmed by sensations. "I—I…" I start to say; it almost comes out without me even noticing, but at the last second I reign it in. I don't want to tell him that I love him like this. My head falls back as my mouth drops open, my nails digging into his back. "AHHHHHHHHHH. OH MY GOD! OH, YESYESYES!"

He pounds his hips into me for a few moments, gasping, before he groans out his release, burying his face in my neck, moving against me urgently.

I press my face against his arm, turning away from him just a little. "I love you," I whisper so softly I can't even hear it. But I need say it; I need to put it out there; I need to say it to him, even if he doesn't know I'm saying it. I open my eyes for a second; I realize one of the cameras is pointed directly at me and probably caught that. I shut my eyes again, pulling him closer.

I push my hips against his a few more times, milking his orgasm, my orgasm for as long as I can, jolts of electricity still coursing through me. I can hear him breathing, tiny moans escaping him occasionally as his body slows down. I kiss his neck, cradling his head in my hand. I feel his lips on my shoulder, behind my ear, on my cheek, before finding my lips, kissing me slowly, thoroughly.

I feel him smile into my mouth, and I can't help but grin back. "That was amazing," I whisper, and it really was.

"I think I died," he groans softly.

"La petite mort," I answer quietly and he chuckles.

He grabs my hand off the back of his neck, linking our fingers together; he kisses my knuckles, bracing himself on his elbow with his other arm, looking down at me. He leans down and kisses me again, our joined hands nestled in between our chests.

"How long can you stay?" he whispers against my lips, and all I can do is sigh.

Forever.

"All night."

"What're you gonna tell Rachel?"

I shrug lazily, leaning up to kiss him again. "I'll…tell her I went out with some coworkers."

"Think she'll buy it?"

"I'll just say it was someone's birthday and that I had to." He kisses me again. "I'll call her in a little while so she won't worry."

"Okay," he whispers, his lips on mine again. "We'll have to turn the cameras off at some point."

"Mmmm," I answer, noncommittally, not caring at that moment. I still have to recover a bit before I can trust myself to do anything but lie here in his arms.

I don't think he's in a rush, either.

He kisses me again, grinning at me. "Stop being so kissable."

I laugh a little, shifting my legs to accommodate him more comfortably against me. "I'll work on it."

He strokes my cheek gently, his expression changing a little as he looks into my eyes. "On second thought, maybe you should _always_ be this kissable."

"I can work on that, too."

He grabs the edge of a blanket, pulling it over our sweaty bodies. He finds a pillow and I lift my head as he slides it underneath me, resting his head beside mine. I turn my neck so I can face him, take him in. He just smiles at me softly.

"We could relocate to the bed," he whispers, and I just shake my head.

"I'm good here."

He smiles, and we lean in, kissing each other softly.


	20. Chapter 20

"Well, I guess there's nothing left for us to do but…but kiss." My stomach is in a knot—I don't want to do this. Sure; it was fun for a little while, screwing with Phoebe and Rachel, trying to get them back for screwing with us. But now it's going too far. Now, Phoebe's just a couple of inches away; she looks about as thrilled with this as I feel. I thought she'd back down much sooner than this. I'm on Monica's team, for crying out loud. Doesn't she know how competitive Monica is?

"Here it comes," Phoebe answers, uncertainly. "Our first kiss."

I glance at the bathroom door, my heart pounding, and not at all in the way it does around Monica. This can't be happening; Monica's going to burst out of there any moment, demanding that Phoebe stop what she's doing.

I look at Phoebe again, and she's very slowly leaning toward me, her lips pursed in an expression that is anything but desire.

My nose crinkles a bit as I closer, my lips pulling back as they try to stay as far away from her as possible.

I lean closer to her and our lips touch, and I don't want to say that I feel revulsion, because that's a little harsh, but all I know is that I don't want to do this. I don't want to kiss Phoebe! The only person I want to kiss is Monica.

The only person I _ever_ want to kiss is Monica.

Ever.

I push Phoebe away. "Okay okay okay all right okay all right you win! I can't have sex with you!" I put my hand to my forehead, rubbing my temples. This has gotten way too out of hand.

Phoebe's staring at me in glee, looking triumphant. "And why not?"

I throw open my arms, exasperated. "Because I'm in love with Monica!" I blurt out, and Phoebe's mouth drops open in shock.

"You're…you're _what_?!"

I see the door to the apartment fly open, Rachel and Joey sticking their heads in; I hear the bathroom door squeak open, and all I can think about is making my feelings about this woman very clear. "Love her! That's right. _I_ love _her_. _I. Love. Her_!" I point at Monica for a moment as I breathe heavily, what I said hitting me.

I love Monica. I just told all of our friends that I love her

But I do. I _love_ her. I'm in love with her.

That's what this ache in my chest has been. This feeling in the pit of my stomach.

I look over to see Monica walking toward me, the biggest grin in the world on her face, and I feel myself smile in response. My hands come up to her waist as she stands in front of me, her expression softening.

"I love you, Monica," I say tenderly, and she lets out an almost laugh as her hands squeeze my arms a little.

It feels great to say that to her.

It feels so right.

"I love you, too, Chandler," she tells me, her voice cracking just a little, and I barely have time to process what she said to me before her arms come up around my neck and we pull each other close. I wrap my arms around her, one hand cradling her head, our lips meeting in the sweetest kiss we've ever shared. She pulls away from me a few moments later, the smile on her face making it impossible to maintain contact.

Like my own grin isn't making things tough.

I rest my forehead against hers as she smiles up at me, and my heart almost stops with the way she's looking at me.

They way she's been looking at me for a long time now.

"I just thought you guys were doing it; I didn't know you were in _love_," Phoebe squeaks behind us, her smile huge.

Monica's arms slide around my waist and I pull her close to me.

I can't stop smiling.

I love this woman.

Oh, my God, I love her.

And she loves me.

Is this really happening?

"Dude!" Joey exclaims, grinning at me, looking happy-embarrassed, Rachel beside him, nearly in tears, and I nod my head at him, my cheeks starting ache from all the smiling.

Who knew?

I mean, who knew that I'd fall in love with Monica Geller, or that she'd fall in love with me?

I'm going to need to hear her say it again.

"And hats off to Phoebe," I say, holding out a hand to her. "Quiet a competitor…and might say your breasts are still showing."

"God!" she exclaims, trying to button up her shirt, and I feel Monica chuckle against me a little. I give her just a little squeeze, and her arms tighten around me in response. Joey's face lights up, and he looks relieved.

"All right! So that's it—it's over! Everybody knows."

"Well, actually, Ross doesn't," Monica says, and I feel just the slightest bit of tension in her body at that.

"Yes, and we'd appreciate if no one told him yet," I say, and Monica nods against my chest.

Joey's nostrils flare as he purses his lips, and I can't help but feel bad for the guy; all he wants is to not have to keep a secret anymore.

"I'm sorry, Joey," Monica says, her fingers gently stroking my side. "But he's probably going to freak out, and we just have to figure out _how_ to tell him."

I shudder just a little, already not looking forward to his reaction—he's been so volatile lately that it's hard to guess how he'll react to anything. "It won't be much longer, I promise."

Monica tilts her head back, smiling at me. "It's been too long."

I think my heart could actually burst right now; I don't think I've ever been this happy. I lean down and kiss her gently, my hand coming up to stroke her cheek. Rachel sniffles and we both turn our faces to her; she grins at us, her arm linked through Joey's, who still doesn't look thrilled. "Oh, my God, you guys," she says. "This is so great."

My arms tighten around Monica as she says, "I know. It's the best."

"So, out of curiosity," Phoebe says, finally getting her top buttoned. "How long _has_ it been?"

I smile down at Monica, kissing her forehead. "Eight months," I answer. The best eight months of my life.

"Eight months?" Rachel squeaks, sounding shocked.

"Yeah, it happened in London," Monica answers, her eyes never leaving mine.

"What?!" Phoebe exclaims.

"Joey! You never told me that!" Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Rachel smack Joey's arm; his mouth drops open as he stares at me.

"Seriously?"

I glance at him for a second, shrugging, before my gaze returns to Monica.

The woman I love.

My heart races at that thought, but in a good way.

And she loves me.

I see tears glisten in the corners of her eyes, and some things start to click. All those nights she would cry after we made love, or even during sometimes, the way she would stare at me with such a serious, concentrated look, her eyes never leaving mine…I'm guessing these feelings are not a shock to her.

I lean down to kiss her again, the voices of my friends just background noise right now. She's all that matters. She's all that's mattered for a very long time.

"Monica? Chandler? Hell_ooo_," Rachel says impatiently; Monica runs her hand gently down my face, pulling her lips from mine slowly. She stands in front of me, her hands behind her back, and I slide my fingers through hers.

"Hey, Rache? Can we have some time in the apartment? We need to…talk and stuff."

Joey grins, nearly bouncing with excitement. "Yeah, baby!"

Monica just squeezes my fingers and pulls me to the door.

"No, but…I have so many questions!" Rachel exclaims. "I want to know—"

"Look, Rache," Monica says, cutting her off. "Something really huge just happened in my life, and I really just want to be with my boyfriend right now."

"Yeah, she really just wants to be with her boyfriend right now," I echo, feeling my grin grow wider. "And that's me!" If Monica's hands weren't in mine, I'd be doing my happy dance right now. Instead, we untangle our fingers on one hand and I reach for the door.

"Have fun!" Phoebe calls, and I look back to see her smiling at us happily.

Joey pounds my arm a few times, excitedly. "_Yeah_, baby!"

I swat at him unsuccessfully as Monica and I head across the hall.

"Eight months…" Rachel says. "Wait a minute! If you've been together eight months, does that mean Chandler was your secret boy—"

"Goodnight, Rache," Monica calls as we slip into her apartment, shutting the door in Rachel's face. She looks up at me for a minute and I swallow heavily. There are so many things right now, so much I want to say, and I just don't know where to begin.

Finally, she gives my hand a tug and in silence we walk across the apartment to her bedroom. I shut the door behind me, and when I turn, she's standing next to her bed, wringing her hands just a bit. "You really love me?" she asks softly, worrying her lower lip with her teeth.

I smile and shake my head. "I really love you," I answer, taking the few steps over to her, my hands sliding around her waist. "So much."

"I really love you, too, Chandler." Her arms go around me, pulling me close, and she buries her face in my chest. I'm sure she can hear my heart pounding.

"I love you, Monica," I whisper; I feel like I can't say it enough.

She laughs, her whole body shaking, and I can feel tears soaking through a couple of spots on my shirt. "Again."

I take her face in my hands, tilting her chin up to me, her eyes meeting mine. "I love you."

A tear slides down her cheek even as she grins at me. "I love you, too." She slides a hand to the back of my neck, pulling my mouth to hers, kissing me fiercely, passionately. I step into her and the backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed; we crumple onto it in a heap, tangled in each other.

Her fingers undo the buttons of my sweater vest as she kicks off her shoes; a moment later, I pull the vest off and nudge my own shoes off with my toes. She tugs at the hem of my shirt, pulling it out of my pants, her fingers gently running up my stomach. I'm about to suggest we slow it down, enjoy this moment, when she sighs against me, pulling her lips from mine, resting her head next to mine on the pillow.

"I'm so happy right now," she whispers, her fingers still lightly stroking my stomach, sending chills up my spine. I slide my hand up her arm, pulling her closer, turning my head to face hers.

"Me, too."

"Hey; when did you first realize that you love me?"

"When I said it. That's horrible, isn't it?"

She shakes her head slowly, smiling at me gently. "No. I think it's great."

I lean over and kiss her. "Yeah; I said it—you heard me, it just sort of exploded out of me—and I realized it was true and…I knew that it had been true for a long time. Monica, I wish I could tell you when it happened. I wish I knew how long I've been in love with you; all I know is that it's been a while. All these things you make me feel…now that I've given it a name, I realize it's been there for while. Maybe I didn't know what it was because _nothing_ has ever felt like this. I've thought I was in love before, and maybe I was, but it was nothing compared to how I feel about you. 'I love you' doesn't seem like enough; it's not strong enough. You're everything…" My voice drifts off, and I feel overcome with emotion. Even now, this is hard to put into words.

"What do I make you feel?" she asks softly, her fingers sliding around to my back.

"Happy," I say instantly. "But even that's not enough. I just…feel things I've never felt before, and even when we fight, I'm still happier than I ever have been with anyone else. I'm excited to wake up in the morning because you're there. I love going to bed because I get to hold you all night." I sigh; I don't feel very eloquent right now. "You really are everything to me, Mon. You're the moon and the stars and…all the other clichés things that I'm not really good at."

She shakes her head at me. "You're really good at this, and I understand. I want so much to tell you how I feel about you, how you make me feel, and I just can't. I can't, because words aren't good enough. Words will never be good enough. I just…" Her eyes fill with tears, her breath hitching. "I just love you so much. And I'm so happy that I can finally say it."

I tuck her hair behind her ear, pulling her closer, her head coming to rest under my chin. "Were you waiting for me to say it first?"

I can feel her nod. "I didn't want to freak you out. I thought if I said it to you, you'd get scared and run away, and I wouldn't be able to deal with that. I could live with loving you in silence, but I couldn't live without you."

"How long have you known that you love me?" I whisper, and she lets out a shuddery sigh.

"A long time."

"How long?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. Four months, maybe? It's been a while."

Wow. "That long…and I was just off in my own little world, living in the moment with you."

"That's okay, too, though," she rushes to reassure me, placing a gentle kiss on my neck. "You weren't ready to say it. Look at how you freaked out on Thanksgiving when you said it by accident."

"You know, at the time, I really thought I meant that in a friendly way, but now…I mean, who else would put a turkey on her head to cheer me up? Especially over something that happened ten years ago."

"Well, there's only one person in this world I'd wear a turkey for, that's for sure."

I chuckle for a moment, stroking her back. "Hey, Mon?"

"Hmmm?"

"What was it that made you realize you love me?"

"Nothing."

"That's helpful," I tell her, pinching her side, making her jump.

"No, I mean nothing happened. We were all sitting around watching TV, and I looked over at you; you were already looking at me and…I just knew it. I was more sure of it than I'd ever been of anything else in my life. It was a little scary."

"I think I remember that day. That was when you just decided to take out the trash in the middle of a movie, right?"

"Yeah. I needed…I don't know. A minute, I guess."

I can't help but feel a little in awe of this woman. "And you've held it in all this time?"

"It was worth it. I knew you felt the same way about me, or at least you were close to it. And I knew I could wait for you to be ready."

I reach up, taking her face in my hands once more, pulling back so I can see her. "I love you so much."

Her eyes fill with tears again, and I can't help but wonder if I should expect a lot of this today. "Who knew a drunken, one-night-stand in London would be the best thing that ever happened to me?"

I can't help but laugh—who knew?

"I hope this doesn't kill the moment," I tell her, kissing her forehead gently.

"Oh, God, what?"

I laugh, and she laughs with me—I can't blame her for that reaction. "I just think maybe we should celebrate a little."

"And I suppose you want to celebrate naked."

"The thought _did_ cross my mind. But, Monica…" I take a deep breath, hoping I don't sound too corny. "I want to make love to you. I want to really, honestly make love for the first time in our relationship, with all the feelings out in the open. I don't want to hold anything back."

I feel a shudder run through her body. "I promise," she says, pushing me onto my back. "I won't holdback _anything_." Then her lips are on mine, her body draped across me. I groan softly and slide my hands under her shirt, up her back, my fingers digging into her flesh.

She pops up onto her knees, pulling her shirt over her head, her hands immediately reaching for my belt buckle. I sit up a little, my fingers tugging at the buttons on my shirt until it's open enough for me to yank it off. I stand up, pulling my pants down, my underwear, my hands going to the button on her pants, fumbling for only a minute until I manage to get them undone. She lies back on the bed, arching her hips up a little, her hands reaching around to her back so she can take off her bra, and I pull off the rest of her clothes.

I've seen her naked hundreds of times by this point, but none of those moments have been as profound as this. There is literally nothing between us now.

We love each other. We love each other and that's all that matters.

I crawl on top her of, pressing my body to hers, her legs falling open to cradle me, our bodies feeling like they fit together even more perfectly than ever before. I slide my arms under her shoulders, wrapping myself around her; her body trembles beneath mine.

Or maybe that's me.

Maybe it's both of us.

I definitely feel shaky right now.

I press my lips against hers slowly, carefully, almost as if I'm afraid this is all a dream, and any second it could be gone. "This is real, isn't it?" I ask softly.

"If it's not, I don't ever want to wake up."

I smile down at her; she's too much.

"I love you," she tells me, and I feel like I'm going to fall apart. "I love you."

"I love you, too." I bring my lips down to her neck, sucking gently at her soft skin. "I love you so much." It's such a relief to finally say this to her, to understand just why I've felt so…incomplete lately.

Maybe not "incomplete." It's not that something's been missing. I think we just needed this part for it all to just fit.

I slide one hand down her side, down her leg, bringing my lips back to hers, and she pushes against me just a little, whimpering into mouth. Part of me, a big part of me, wants to give her the full treatment. She deserves _that_ much. She deserves to be loved and worshipped and adored, and I want to run my lips all over her body, touch every inch of her

Her fingers dig into my shoulders; I kiss my way down her neck, sliding my lips over to the hollow of her throat and she sighs.

I move my lips across to her shoulder, nipping at her clavicle, and she runs her fingers through my hair, her hips starting to thrust against me softly.

I make my way back across her chest to her other shoulder, and she whispers my name. "Chandler."

"I love you," I say, and it's automatic now, an instant response to her and how desperately I need to express myself.

She takes my face in her hands, and I look up at her. Her eyes are a blue I've never seen before; I swallow heavily.

"We have time for all that later," she tells me softly, running her thumbs over my lips, and I kiss them gently.

"I want to worship you," I say, and her eyes close for just a moment as a shudder passes through her body.

"I know you do. But right now…I just want to be with you. I _need_ to be with you."

I lean up, kissing her lips gently. "As you wish," I whisper, and she laughs a little, her feet coming up to brace themselves next to my knees. I shift my hips back, positioning myself, and I look at her once more, meeting her eyes. She nods, tightening her arms around me, and I slide into her slowly. Her mouth drops open, a soft, "Ohhh," escaping her lips. Her chin quivers for a moment, and I breathe heavily, trying to compose myself.

Even this feels different. This amazing act that we've done together more times than I can count in the last eight months, this beautiful, wonderful act that feels amazing every time, that's so powerful and fulfilling, and now, with just three little words, it's like nothing else I've ever felt.

"Are you okay?" we ask each other at the same time, both of us smiling. I see her throat move as she swallows, and I push against her slowly. Her eyes flutter shut for a moment as she sighs. I pull my hips back, then thrust again, and her eyes open once more, meeting mine, and I swear I can feel my soul quake.

"God, Monica," I whisper. She reaches down, taking my hand off her thigh, twining our fingers together. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, rotating my hips against hers, watching her moan again. Her body tightens around mine.

"I love you," she gasps as her hips rise up to meet mine; my heart clenches.

This is so much better than it's ever been.

I thrust into her a little harder, a little faster, watching the emotions play across her face. How did I not realize what this was before now? Am I really that stupid? For whatever reason, this woman really does love me. I don't know what I did to deserve it, but I'm going to try like hell to make sure I don't do anything to lose it.

"Chandler, Chandler, Chandler," she pants, her body moving in time with mine, and I lean down, kissing her, my self-control slipping at an alarming rate.

She moans softly into my mouth, kissing me for as long as she can before we tear our lips away from each other, keeping our foreheads pressed together as we gasp into each other, our eyes meeting once again.

Her fingers tighten around mine, and I bring our joined hands up beside Monica's head, pressing them down into the mattress.

She pushes her hips into mine, increasing the pace, shuddering around for a few seconds, moaning. "Ohhhhhhhhhh."

"I love you." I cannot say it enough; now that I've started saying it, I want to say it all the time.

I can't get enough of hearing her say it to me.

"Oh, my Goooood," she groans suddenly, her entire body arching off the bed, pushing against me, her internal muscles squeezing me, and I start pounding into her; I can't hold it back. I need her with a ferocity I've never known before.

Her entire body shakes as she thrusts against me, her free hand digging into my back, the fingers of the hand twined with mine turning white as she clutches me. I bury my face in her neck for minute, inhaling deeply, and she fills me.

"Oh, God," she gasps. "Ohgod ohgod yeah." I lift my head again, going to kissing, pausing when I see that she's crying again.

"You okay?" I ask, trying to slow myself down a little, but she just nods, pushing against me faster.

"You complete me," she whispers, and I feel my eyes grow wide, my insides shaking.

I've never completed anyone before.

"You complete me, too," I answer, and even though it's scary as hell, it's also true. She _is_ my other half.

Tears fall from her eyes faster even as she smiles at me, her face falling a moment later as she moans into my shoulder, and I can tell from the way her body is tenses around me she only has moments to go.

"Ohhhhhhhh, God, Chandler. Ohhhh. Ohhhhhh. Ohhhhhh. Yes yes YES YES OHHHH LOVE YOU!" Her body thrusts fiercely against mine, her orgasm powerful. "Love you," she wails again, and before I can think, before I can process anything else, I'm losing control on top of her, my body thrusting and pushing and driving into her as I groan into her hair, the orgasm so intense I feel like I'm going to black out.

"I love you." Her body convulses around mine, her moans in my ear only drawing it all out, making it last longer, making it better.

I shudder one last time and collapse unceremoniously on top of her, panting into her chest, my grip on her hand finally loosening; we both flex our fingers for a moment, linking them back together as soon as possible.

"I don't know if I can move," I finally mumble, and I can feel her laugh rumble through her chest.

"I don't want you to." She runs her hand through my hair, rubbing my neck gently, and I sigh.

This is where I always want to be.

Just me and the woman I love.

Together.

* * *

*A/N…so, how's this for an "I love you" fic?

No, seriously…how is it?

* * *

As an added bonus, here's how I originally wrote this as a one-shot _MONTHS_ ago.

As soon as I told Monica that I love her, I realized that I'd known that for a long time. Maybe I didn't let myself think about it, but once those words left my lips, I could understand that…feeling that had been inside of me for so long.

I don't even know how to describe it other than "feeling," because it wasn't just in one place, like my heart. It was all of me; it feels like Monica is in me, that she's a part of me, and I can feel it from top to bottom.

I feel such relief at finally telling her that I can't understand why I waited so long. I feel lighter, and so much happier than I've ever been.

It seems silly that three little words makes me want to be around her even more, but I feel like, right now, I am physically unable to take my hands off of her.

The smile on my face is almost literally from ear to ear. I look down at her face and the same happiness is reflected back up at me; a smile that won't quit, eyes sparkling like I've never seen before. And it's all for me. That thought makes my heart race even more—Monica is mine. This amazing, beautiful, strong, crazy woman is mine. She has been for a long time.

I can hear our friends jabbering in the background—about what, I don't know. I don't bother paying attention. Instead, I simply say to Monica, "I love you."

Instantly, she replies, "I love you, too."

Happily, I kiss her. I briefly register our friends making some sort of crack about us getting a room, but I ignore them. In this moment, there's no one but Monica and me. The world around us has ceased to exist and there's just this.

Me and the love of my life.

Wow.


	21. Chapter 21

I smile into Chandler's mouth as he kisses me, his hands gripping my thighs, helping me move on top of him. My fingers dig into his shoulders, ripples of pleasure running through every part of my body.

I sit up a moment later, rocking my hips back and forth against him, my head falling back, my eyes closing in ecstasy.

"Ohhh. Ohhhhhh, God. Chandler. Oh, Chandler. Yes yes yes."

I feel his hands slide up my sides, his fingertips surprisingly delicate at the moment.

"Monica," he whispers, and I open my eyes, looking down at him. He smiles at me shakily, his forehead damp from exertion. "I love you."

My heart flutters like crazy, happy butterflies dance in my stomach; he loves me.

He loves me.

Every time I think about that, I feel like laughing and crying at the same time.

Chandler's in love with me. Nothing has ever made me happier than hearing him tell me that. Except maybe the second time he told me. And then the third time.

I definitely feel happier every time he says it. It's the most amazing thing in the world.

I grab at his forearms, giving him a little pull, and he sits up, wrapping his arms around my waist, his face pressed against my chest, happy noises falling out of his mouth.

We spent a good portion of the night doing this. Maybe it's a cliché to celebrate "I love you" with sex, but the need to physically express everything I feel for him is almost overpowering. I feel like I never want to leave his side. And it's not like we've been doing nothing but having sex all night—we've done a lot of talking, and cuddling, and holding, and a bit of sleeping here and there. It's all been wonderful, though.

The sweetest part of all may be that Chandler's been saying "make love" this whole time instead of just "sex." My wonderful, sensitive, sweet, loving, commit-phobe boyfriend has been thoroughly, completely making love to me all night long.

It's been beautiful.

It's also been a relief to finally just be able to say, "I love you," at any given moment and not be worried that I'll scare him off. He hasn't been able to stop saying it, either.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by his lips on my neck, his teeth nipping at my skin. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close.

Nothing has ever felt like this. Sex with him has always been amazing, but now that we've added love to the mix…it's just beyond anything else I've ever felt.

"I love you," I moan, pushing myself against him a little harder, moving my hips in small, quick circles. My head feels swirly from the intensity of it all. He drags my lips to his, kissing me deeply, making me shudder.

In a move I didn't know he could pull off, he flips me onto my back so that he's now hovering over me, his body never leaving mine. Without missing a beat, he starts driving into me, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.

Part of me never wants this to end; God, it feels so good.

He slows down for just a few moments, taking long, deep strokes in and out of me, and I swear I don't know what feels better.

He speeds up again, and suddenly, I'm right there. I don't know how he does it, but I'm not complaining. My hips start to push up against him faster, racing toward my release. "Yes, baby, yeeeeessss," I groan, and just as I feel my orgasm start to take hold, he grabs my hips, pressing me into the mattress so I can't move. My body fights him, trying to create friction, and I feel dizzy as my body tries to figure out what to do.

He stares at me for a couple of seconds, not moving; I can see him swallow, his chest moving, and he drops down onto me, our chests pressed firmly together, his hips hammering into mine and a second later, I'm wailing, clawing at his back, my hips still trying to move against him, his hands holding me still; he's completely in control of my orgasm and it's insanely intense.

"AHHHHHHHHH!" My legs wrap around his waist, holding him tight against me, and he can only make tiny, powerful thrusts. His fingers dig into my hips as I feel his body shaking. He goes tense for just a second before he groans into my neck. We move against each other as best as our restricted movement will allow, and I feel wave after wave of pure passion washing over me.

His hands release my hips and I push myself into him harder a few more times. "Jesus," he grunts as he tries to match my thrusts before his movements slow. My legs unravel from his waist, dropping bonelessly beside him, and we move against each other gently for a couple of minutes.

"Oh, God," he says softly. "What a way to start the day."

I giggle, wrapping my arms around him, angling my face to kiss him. "Good morning indeed."

He smiles against my lips, sighing happily. "What time is it?"

I peek over his shoulder for second. "After six."

His body freezes for a moment, and starts to pull away from me in a panic. I grab onto his arms and wait. A few moments later, he looks down at me in wonder, settling against me once more. "Rachel knows about us. I don't have to rush out."

I shake my head slowly, feeling the same sense of wonder fill me. "Nope. She knows you're my boyfriend. It's okay. The only thing you'll have to do is sneak in past Ross."

He groans, burying his face in my neck. "We need to figure out how to tell him about us, and soon."

I nod in agreement, stroking his hair, but for the moment, I'm drawing a blank as to how to do that without causing physical harm to someone. I grab the edge of a blanket, pulling it over us just a little, even though I know he needs to get up soon.

He traces lazy patterns on my shoulder. "Do you know how much I love you?" he asks suddenly.

I feel a grin nearly split my face in half. "How much do you love me?"

"No, I'm asking _you_; do you have any idea how much I love you? Because I have no clue."

I smack his arm even as I laugh. "You love me a whole lot."

"Yeah, that's probably true."

"No, it's definitely true. You love me…to the moon and back."

"More than that, I think."

I feel my heart thump erratically. "To the sun and back?"

"Yeah, maybe. But probably I love you around the universe and back." He lifts his head from my neck, smiling at me sweetly. "A few times."

I've managed to keep the steady stream of happy tears that have been leaking out of me lately at bay all morning, but that does me in. "Me, too," I whisper, feeling tears slip down the sides of my face.

He kisses me gently, my hand coming up to stroke his face, and my heart feels like it could burst it has so much love in it.

He sighs and presses his forehead against mine. "I should probably get up anyway."

I nod sadly, even though I know it's true. He peels himself off of me, and I feel incredibly empty for a few seconds. I turn on my side and pull the blanket over my cold flesh, and watch him walk over to my underwear drawer. He holds out a pair for me and I nod, then he pulls out a pair of boxers for himself, along with a t-shirt. I suddenly wish he had more of his stuff over here, but I bite my tongue. We love each other, but it still might be rushing it a bit for him to tell him to bring more clothes over.

I watch him pull on his clothes and sit up with a sigh; I can't help but feel sad that this perfect, wonderful night is over, and that we have to go back to reality. But I guess reality's a little bit brighter today; I can be with Chandler as my boyfriend in front of my friends.

Smiling, I stand up and stretch—my body is probably going to be all kinds of sore today. I bend down and grab Chandler's shirt from yesterday off the ground, slipping it over my head, his smell washing over me like a wave. I turn to see him holding out my underwear for me, his mouth hanging open a little.

"What?" I ask, plucking the panties out of his hand, stepping into them carefully.

"Do you have any idea how hot it is when you wear my clothes?"

I scrunch my nose up as I smile. "Really?"

"Oh, my God. It might be the sexiest thing in the world."

I unroll the sleeves of his shirt, tugging them down over my hands. "What's so hot about it?"

I swear his pupils dilate; his breathing definitely gets a little labored. "I think it's the intimacy of it. Plus, you look really tiny right now, and I'm sorry if this sounds Cro-Magnon of me, and I know you certainly don't need it, but it makes me feel like you need protecting."

I can't help but feel a little rush knowing that he _wants_ to protect me. I step over to him, standing on tiptoe, wrapping my arms around his neck. "Anything else?"

He swallows heavily, his hands gripping my waist gently. "Easy access. I can just reach right under and you're there, all curves and soft skin…"

I love "in love" Chandler. He suddenly has no trouble telling me all this wonderful stuff that he likes about me, or how I make him happy, and it's incredible. "You wanna know why I like wearing your clothes?" I ask softly, bringing my lips close to his, and he just nods; his hands tighten against my waist. "Because they smell like you." He groans, his lips crashing against mine. I slide my hand through his hair, scratching my nails against his scalp.

"We can't start this again, Mon," he mumbles around our lips.

"I know," I answer, stretching myself up even higher, pressing myself against him.

"Tonight?"

"Mmmmm. Oh—wait." I drop down back to my feet. "I have to work tonight. By the time you get off work, I'll already be at the restaurant."

"So, I'll wait up for you. I'll come over after Ross goes to sleep so we can spend some time together."

I smile and hug him. "You're the best boyfriend in the world. I love you."

He squeezes me for a moment, kissing the side of my head. "I love you, too."

Reluctantly, I untangle myself from him and open my bedroom door. I stop short when I see Rachel sitting on the couch, still in her pajamas, a weird look on her face. "Hey, Rache," I say, trying to sound casual as Chandler bumps into me. I feel him tense for a moment, his first instinct to hide or deny everything.

Very casually, though, he says, "Good morning, Rache," and nudges me forward. I tangle my fingers with his, leading him over to the bathroom. I dig through one of the drawers in the little storage table, pulling out a new toothbrush triumphantly.

"So we don't have to share anymore," I tell him, and he grins as he takes it from me.

"I get my own toothbrush now?"

"Definitely." Anything to encourage him to spend the night with me.

"I'll be out in a minute," he whispers, leaning down to kiss me. A minute later, he disappears behind the door. I twist the sleeves of his shirt around my hands, grinning stupidly, and turn toward the kitchen, jumping when I see Rachel staring at me. I'd forgotten she was even there.

"Uh…hey, Rache. Sleep all right?"

"Well, no, not really. You?" She stands up, following me into the kitchen. "Did you sleep all right?"

I grab the coffee pot, filling it with water as I bite my lip. "I did. I slept very well."

"Really? Because it _sounded_ like you didn't sleep at all."

I can't even feel embarrassed that she heard us. I pour the water in the coffee maker, still grinning from ear to ear. "I guess we got a little carried away," I say, as casually as I possibly can.

"'Carried away'? Monica—"

"Before you can finish that thought," I interrupt, holding up a hand to her. "Might I remind you that I had to listen to you and my brother go at it for a year?"

Her mouth snaps shut instantly. "Fine. But can I say one thing before I let all of this drop for now?"

I sigh, rolling my eyes. "What?"

I'm shocked when her arms wrap around me, pulling me into a tight hug. "I'm so happy for you," she whispers, her voice tight. I hug her back, grinning against her shoulder.

"Thanks, Rache."

"And you're happy, right?"

"So, _so_ happy." I squeeze my arms around her for a second. "I've never been happier in my life."

She clears her throat and pulls away. "So…what're you making for breakfast?"

I just shake my head, grabbing a couple of boxes of cereal off the shelf, plopping them on the table. "Done."

She gives me a look, so I grab a couple of bowls, spoons, and the carton of milk. I know she's angling for something more substantial, but at the moment, I'm too happy to eat.

The apartment door flies open and Joey pokes his head in. "Hey. Where's Chandler?"

"Brushing his teeth—why?"

Chandler pokes his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth. "Wha?" he mumbles.

"Ross just left. Said he was gonna go grab the paper and stuff."

Chandler disappears back into the bathroom, rinsing his mouth out. A moment later, he walks into the kitchen, sliding his arm around my shoulders. "I'm gonna go shower and change. I'll be back in a few minutes." He leans down to kiss me, but we both pause when we see Rachel and Joey staring at us. Simultaneously, we sigh and step into the hall. I stand on tiptoes again, taking his face in my hands. He gently grabs my hips, pulling me closer, kissing me softly. "It's still a little weird being 'out' in front of them."

I nod, pressing my forehead against his chin. "Is it too much to say that I'll miss you?" I ask quietly.

"It's just a couple of minutes. You won't have to miss me for too long."

I smile, kissing him again. "Thank you."

He swats at me, giving me a gentle push back to my apartment. "You're going to get cold." He sticks his head into his apartment, probably checking for Ross just in case. "Love you," he calls over his shoulder, disappearing a second later. I sigh and walk back into my place, jumping when I see Joey and Rachel still watching me.

"What?" I ask, defensively.

Joey grins at me, his smile taking over his entire face. "Cute shirt."

I tug the hem of Chandler's shirt down, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. I avoid their gaze as I walk to my room. "I'm just gonna shower," I mumble.

"It's the other way, Mon," Rachel calls out to me, teasingly, and I shut my bedroom door behind me. It's great that we don't have to hide in front of them anymore, but it'll take some time before either of us are really comfortable being a couple in front of our friends. Especially if they're going to stare at us like that.

I look at my rumpled bed and sigh, feeling my ever-present smile grow a bit wider. I'll take the adjustment period over hiding our relationship any day.

I pull the sheets off my bed and toss them in my laundry basket—they certainly saw more than their share of action last night—and gather our dirty clothes off the floor, dumping them on top of the sheets. I grab clean clothes out of my dresser and sigh a little. I'd like to be able to wear Chandler's shirt all day. Actually, I'd like to stay home with Chandler all day. Even if we just cuddled up on the couch and watched TV, I'd be happy with that.

I shake myself out of my thoughts, pulling Chandler's shirt off of me and grabbing my robe from the back of the door.

We have plenty of time for that later.

I pause, my hand on the doorknob, and I grin.

We have all the time in the world.

*A/N…so, it's a little shorter than I've been writing lately, but better to stop it there than ramble on senselessly.


	22. Chapter 22

I tighten my grip around Monica's waist marginally, pulling her a little closer. She sighs, her fingers twining through mine. She turns her head, pressing a kiss to my cheek before turning her attention back to the movie.

Monica is curled up on my lap. In front of people. It's so amazing, I don't know how I'm so composed at the moment.

I get to be her boyfriend—_all the time_. I get to hold her hand and I get to kiss her and hug her and sit too close to her on the couch and no one will question it.

I'm still completely amazed by all of this. I had no idea we'd make it this far. Hoped for it, yes. Dreamed about it, wished for it, wanted it so badly it hurt, but it was all a crapshoot. Being in love with Monica is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

Actually, it's tied with having her love me back. That part's pretty spectacular, too, and still a little unbelievable. Even after my colossal freak out the other day, she still sees the good in me and wants to call me hers. She knows I have issues—most of them irrational, some of them not—and she loves me anyway. She wants to _be_ with me anyway. And she wants to let people know about it! She's incredibly tactile and affectionate—her hand is always on my knee or she's always leaning against my side, and it doesn't freak me out in the slightest. Hell, if she's not touching me, I immediately reach for her, trying to maintain the contact.

Coming out of our couple closet almost feels like we're starting back at the beginning of our relationship, at least in the respect that we always want to be near each other. It's just such a relief to be able to do this in front of people now.

I press my lips into her shoulder and she settles herself into me a little more deeply. "I love you," I breathe against her neck, and the light from the TV bounces off her teeth in the darkened room as she grins. She turns her face back to me, resting her forehead against my temple.

"I love you, too."

I run my hand gently up and down her leg a few times and she whispers in my ear, "We have an audience."

I chuckle a little. "Mmmmhmm." I turn my head to the other chair, and Rachel's attention snaps back to the TV, trying to look as if she _hadn't_ been staring at us for some time. I look over at the couch; Phoebe looks far too casual as she concentrates on the screen. Ross, however, has no trouble staring me down, giving me the stink-eye as his sister cuddles against me.

"What?" she asks as my body tenses beneath hers.

"I think your brother is plotting my death," I whisper, and she immediately looks over her shoulder, glaring at him. He makes a face at her before going back to the movie and I feel her shake her head.

"This is _not_ what I had in mind for tonight."

"No kidding." Joey's out for the evening, so we figured we'd have the place to ourselves, something that hasn't happened a whole lot in the entire course of our relationship, and almost not at all since everyone found out about us. But Rachel suggested a movie, and Monica innocently mentioned that we'd be hanging out in my apartment, and all of a sudden that became the "thing" for the night, even though we almost _never_ hang out at my place. The desire for our friends to see us as a couple was apparently too great to let us have some time to ourselves.

I think this must be what a goldfish feels like.

All I want to do is spend some time with my girlfriend; I guess it'll be a while before they don't think of us as some sort of abnormality.

That day can't come soon enough.

"We _could_ just…go to bed," I suggest.

She nuzzles my ear gently. "I like that. Maybe that'll send them packing."

"And if not, won't they be sorry in a few minutes?"

"Sounds like somebody has big plans for tonight."

I shrug, squeezing her hip. "I still haven't gotten over the novelty of not hiding. It's kind of a turn on."

She gives my thigh a little pat then stands up, stretching—my lap feels very lonely without her. "We're gonna go to bed, guys." She holds her hand out to me, helping to pull me out of my Barcalounger. I stretch a little, too, then wrap my arm around her waist.

"Yeah, it's getting late," I agree, even though it's barely after nine.

"Together?" Ross squeaks, looking horrified. "Don't you think you should maybe…not?"

I roll my eyes, my free hand rubbing my eyes for a moment. "Ross…"

"I mean, we're in the middle of this great movie…"

"Give me one character name or one plot detail and you can stay," Monica challenges and I feel myself grin; my girl is feisty.

For a full minute, he tries. His face shifts, his mouth opens and closes before he finally sighs, slumping his shoulders. Monica grabs the remote, turning off the TV. "Out."

Rachel stands up and moves over to the couch, grabbing Ross's arm. "Come on. Go spend some time in that nice new apartment of yours."

He stands up reluctantly, letting her move him to the door. "But they're gonna do…stuff."

"Probably," she confirms, and he groans as she shoves him through the door.

"If I can tell you the characters _and_ the plot, can I stay?"

"Phoebe!" Monica exclaims, frowning at our friend.

She just sighs and gathers her belongings. "Just remember; the offer's on the table."

"Go please," I tell her, pointing at the door.

"Your loss," she tells us, finally walking out the door. Just in case, I follow behind and turn the lock. I turn, and Monica's waiting by the bedroom, looking a little impatient.

"What's up?" I ask, making my way back to her, my hands going to her hips.

"Nothing. I just had something kind of fun in mind and I thought you'd like to be a part of it."

I feel myself spring to attention, stiffening a little painfully. "I think I could be open to that," I say, my voice a little gravely with desire. She just smiles and goes into my bedroom, me close on her heels. I push the door shut and she goes to my nightstand, turning back a moment later with a notepad in one hand, and what looks like a measuring tape in the other. I feel terribly confused. "What's going on?"

She crawls onto my bed, patting the spot next to her. Slowly, cautiously, I sit down, watching as she pulls a pen from the spiral binding of the notepad. "Remember—a while back—when I told you that you were the biggest?"

I feel my chest puff out, my inner caveman very proud of myself. "I believe so."

"And I also told you that we'd break out the measuring tape at some point."

"Yeah, so you could compare me to…"I pause, not even really wanting to say his name.

"Right. Anyway, I thought this could be kind of fun…" She seems to lose a little steam all of a sudden, looking a bit doubtful. "But if you're not into it…"

I gently take her chin in my hand, grinning at her. "So you're going to stroke my ego."

"If you want, I can stroke that, too." I snort a little and she smiles at me. "Yes; it's supposed to be an ego boost. Not that I think you need it lately, but…well, I wouldn't mind getting the dimensions, actually."

I shift a little, looking down at my lap. "Well; someone's suddenly very eager to come out to play."

"Good." She reaches over, sliding her hand across my chest. "Of course, that'll make it harder—" I cut her off as I burst out laughing, and she looks confused for a moment before she catches what she said. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, 'hard,' haha. It will be more _difficult_ to get the initial measurement this way, but I think we'll survive. So, pants off."

"So romantic," I tell her, even though I stand and pull down my pants.

She just gives me a look. "Boxers, too, honey."

"You could at least buy me a drink first."

She stands up, sliding her hands under my t-shirt and I shiver at her touch. She lifts up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine, and I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close.

"Still need that drink?" she breathes a few moments later.

"No, I'm good." My voice cracks and I mentally curse myself just a bit—if I could _not_ be an adolescent boy, that would be super. She tugs at my shirt, pulling it up, and I bend over a little so she can pull it over my head. I'm standing there in only my boxers, and I suddenly feel a little self-conscious. "So, uh…what _exactly_ did you have in mind?"

She gives me a little push and flop back down onto the bed, completely at her mercy. She kneels next to me, running a hand gently over my stomach. "Well…there are different…_phases_ of the erection, right? I mean, once the blood starts to flow south, it just gets bigger. I've heard that just before the end is when you get the biggest, so what I thought we could try is taking random measurements throughout the act. Like, I'll get the starting height and width, we'll do some stuff, measure you again, do some more stuff, measure…you just have to let me know when you're about to orgasm so we can take the final measurement."

I take a few deep breaths, trying to will myself to be a bit calmer. "What sort of 'stuff' are we going to do?"

She leans into me, her lips tickling my earlobe. "If I tell you that, it might skew the results. We wouldn't want that, would we? Then we'd have to do this all over again."

"That would be terrible," I agree. "A fate worse than death."

"So, I'm going to need you to take off the boxers."

In a flash, I pull them down my hips and toss them over my shoulder. "Aren't you going to get naked, too?"

"I will," she promises, grabbing the measuring tape off the bed. "But seeing me naked tends to get you a bit more excited, so we'll get to it. For now, just lie back and trust me."

I do as she asks, folding my arms behind my head, feeling for a brief moment like a total stud. I feel the plastic of the tape measure against my skin and my entire body jumps; I peer down at her, and she already looks pretty satisfied. She wraps it around me, lifts an eyebrow, then leans over to her notepad, scribbling something down. She moves the measuring tape, running her fingers up and down me gently, keeping her eyes focused on my face.

"Well?" I ask, already dying of curiosity.

"You'll have to wait until the end, big guy."

I groan a little and flop back down, but it's hard to be too disappointed when Monica's hands are on me. I lick my lips and sigh, my eyes falling shut and I let her work her magic.

A few minutes later, I'm greeted with cold air and my eyes pop open. She has the measuring tape out again, and she's looking at me intently, her breathing just a little heavier. She measures, leans over to scribble down a few things, then stands up.

"You like seeing me in your clothes, right?"

I pause for a moment. "Yeah…"

"Good." She grabs her pajama pants, pulling them down, kicking them away. Her panties follow a moment later, and I swallow as she stands in nothing but a thermal shirt.

_My_ thermal shirt.

Oh, dear lord…

"How did I not notice you wearing that before?" I don't expect her to answer; I don't need her to. I just need to stare at her for a few moments; the soft blue material grazing her thighs, draping off her slight form…she looks sexy beyond belief.

My groin tightens considerably and I let out a little moan. Damn, but I love this woman.

She smiles and crawls back onto the bed, pausing by my hip. She leans her arm across my thighs, bracing herself, and I catch on an instant before her lips slide over me. I gasp and groan at the same time, my hands fisting in the comforter beneath me.

"Jesus," I manage to say between gritted teeth. I feel her giggle and I whimper. Her eyes meet mine her tongue slides across me; the visual of her leaning over me in nothing but my shirt that has ridden up so that I can now see the curve of her ass while she does unspeakably wonderful things to me is almost enough to do me in. "God, Monica."

She puts her hand on my stomach, her fingers flexing and relaxing in time with her mouth. My hand reaches out, gently stroking her thigh, desperately needing something to distract me.

Her soft skin is _not_ the way to do it.

I breathe deeply and stare at the ceiling—I can't watch her do this. I bite my lip and try to keep my hips from bucking up.

I feel her teeth graze me a few times and my fingers tighten even more around the blanket.

Without warning, her mouth is gone and I gasp in shock. I feel the measuring tape on me again and I can't bear to look.

"Breathe, Chandler," she whispers, her breath suddenly in my ear, and I inhale deeply, my eyes focusing on her face. She runs a finger down my cheek. "You okay?"

"To put it mildly," I groan and I see her eyes light up.

"Ready for more?"

"Please yes."

She presses her lips to mine, surprisingly gentle considering the circumstances. Her leg slides across me, and she braces herself on her knees over me. I slide my hands up her legs, her thighs, her hips, and am met with fabric. I open my eyes in surprise. "Why're you still dressed?" I ask, doing my best to keep our lips together.

"It's all part of it," she whispers, her fingers tracing down my arms. She moves her hips against me and I shudder at the contact, heat coming off of her in waves. I slide my hands under her shirt, her skin damp from being trapped under thermal. She sits up suddenly, shifting her hips a bit, and her delicate fingers are on me again, but only for a moment as she positions me. My chest heaves as I try to watch, though the view is partly obscured by the shirt.

Kind of makes it hotter.

I feel the very tip of me at her entrance and I push myself back against the mattress, waiting to see what she'll do, not wanting to rush this moment. I love when she takes the lead.

Then again, I love when she lets _me_ take the lead.

Hell, it doesn't matter—all of it's good.

She sinks down on me slowly, a fraction at a time, and I can feel her thighs trembling as she tries to maintain control. I grab onto her hips and her fingers dig into my forearms as she lets out long, slow moan.

My hands spread out across her and I feel her stomach muscles clench under my touch. She pauses, breathing heavily for a few moments, her chin dropping to her chest.

"God, I love you," I whisper and she drops onto me completely, and I can't help but spasm for a moment as my body tries to get used to the feel of her around me. Her head lifts, her eyes meeting mine; her face is flushed, her hair already a little disheveled, and my entire body trembles—she's the most beautiful thing in the world.

"I love you," she answers, rocking her hips slowly back and forth, her fingers trailing down to grab my elbows, and I find myself just as turned on by what I can't see of her as what I can.

"How're the measurements coming along?" I ask, hoping conversation will help relieve some of my tension.

"Oh, God," she groans, her nails cutting into me, moving against me a little faster, her hips moving in little circles. "It's good. It's soooo good."

"Anything to report?" I grunt, my hands moving to her back, my fingers sliding up her spine.

"So far so good." She gasps as my hips involuntarily thrust into hers. My hands slide back down her, gently cupping her ass, encouraging her movements. She pushes herself up on her knees a little, sliding back down onto me slowly. She does it again, drawing out her motions, drawing out the sensations. "Ohhhh," she says softly, her hips speeding up a little. "Ohh ohhhhhh."

She falls forward, landing on my chest, our arms tangling around each other. She breathes heavily against my neck, and I bring a hand up, fisting it in her hair, pulling her lips to mine. She moans into my mouth, her hips moving faster and I completely forget the purpose of this entire exercise until I feel her hands pushing against me.

"Where are you going?"

She stares at me for a few moments, panting. She shifts off me and I whine in protest. Her shaky hands reach out for the measuring tape again and my head falls back against the bed. How she has the willpower to do this right now I'll never know. I'm past the point of caring about measurements of any sort—it's attached to me and fits into her and that's kind of all that matters right now.

Well, that, and she seems to really enjoy what it does to her. That part kind of matters right now, too.

She rests her head against my hip for a few seconds and I stroke her hair, waiting. She looks up at me with desire-darkened eyes and I swear I feel a new wave of blood pulsate through me. She licks her lips and drags the tape across me, and it's almost more than my overly-sensitive flesh can handle right now. I hiss at the contact; with a few deep breaths, she grabs her pen again, her hand still shaking as she writes down her next set of information.

She tosses the pen to the side and drags herself to her knees, her hands crossing to grab the bottom of the shirt. She pulls it over her head and tosses it over her shoulder, her head falling back as the comparatively cool air hits her flushed, over-heated skin.

I sit up and pull her onto my lap, my mouth going to her breasts, showering them with as much attention as I can, going back and forth between them quickly, breathing heavily against her skin, her smell filling my nostrils. Her arms wrap around me tightly; her entire body is shaking.

I'm not doing much better myself.

I move my hips against her, trying to increase the friction, trying to get as close to her as I can. She presses her forehead against the top of my head, her breath coming in short gasps, tiny, short moans falling out of her mouth.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," she says suddenly, her voice tight, barely controlled, and I grunt loudly as I feel myself almost come apart. I dig my fingers into her, my teeth nearly biting into the soft skin of her breasts.

"Monica." It's all I can say, and I barely manage that.

I grab her hips and pull her up; moments later, she thrusts down onto me, wailing, her voice high. "I need you," she breaths. "Need you."

I push up against her, barely in control. She slams down onto me, slowly a few times, forcefully. Her hands grab at my back, gaining leverage, pushing against me faster.

I bring my face up, my lips searching for hers, one of my hands reaching for her blindly, finding the back of her head, dragging her to me. Our lips meet and we breathe against each other's mouths heavily.

"Oh, my God," she whispers, rocking back and forth a few times, changing angles, changing the contact, and I grit my teeth, trying to keep myself together.

I release the back of her head, tracing my fingers down her arm, giving it a little tug, and she lets go of my back. My fingers find hers and I bring her hand to my chest, placing it over my thumping heart.

"This is you," I gasp. "You're in here."

"Oh, Chandler," she breathes, moving faster, clenching herself around me.

"It's you, baby. It's you."

"Gooooooood."

"You're my heart."

Her eyes snap open and she pauses, both of us trembling. "What?"

"You're my heart," I tell her again, tightening my grip on her hand.

She smiles at me, shakily, but brilliantly. "And you're mine."

"I love you," I remind her and her eyes cloud over with a fine sheen of tears; "love" suddenly doesn't seem like a strong enough way to describe what I feel for this woman, but I don't know of a better way. All I can do is say it as often as possible, hoping she'll get just how much she means to me.

She presses her lips to mine as our bodies start to move again, the kiss sweet despite the frantic motions of the two of us moving together, and it strikes me that _this_ is the real deal. I know everyone was just screwing with us when they were talking about marriage and I know that I almost went off the deep end for a couple of days, but I realize that I absolutely cannot imagine my life without this woman. This is a forever kind of love. To the world around us, we may not look like some great love affair, but that doesn't matter. We _are_ love. Everything that word is supposed to mean is what we are. There are no conditions to the way I feel about her, and judging how she's stuck with me lately, I don't think she has conditions, either. Maybe it's overly sentimental, but I think this is what true love is supposed to be. It's intense and pure and so full of joy, and all I want is to feel this way forever.

She really _is _my heart. If she's not there, then I don't exist.

That should scare me.

It should, but I know with absolute certainty that it's the truth. Without Monica, there is no Chandler. We're too far entwined now; there's no going back. And I sure as hell don't want to.

Her movements speed up suddenly as she gasps. "Oh, my God, Chandler, I love you. I love you so much." Her fingers tighten against my chest and I pull her closer, impossibly closer, and a few moments later, she throws her head back, moaning wordlessly, her body moving frantically against mine as she orgasms around me. I let myself go, holding onto her hip with one hand, thrusting against her sloppily, groaning into her hair, my ears ringing as the world around us disappears for a few moments.

I don't know where we are in those moments, but it's magical.

I feel our bodies shaking together as I come back to reality, our limbs still tangled as we breathe heavily. I stroke her hair, brushing it back from her face.

"Damn," I whisper.

"Yeah," she agrees.

"Hey," I say, stroking her back gently. "I forget to let you know to measure me one last time."

"Yeah, it kinda slipped my mind, too. I wouldn't worry too much, though. You won by a landslide."

I kiss her shoulder, chuckling. "That right?"

"Before we even started, you'd won."

Despite my satiated, drowsy state, I feel myself preen just a bit. Somehow, I know this isn't the time to gloat. "Can I see what you wrote down?"

She chuckles, looking over her shoulder, the notepad still off to one side. She stretches over, grabbing it, handing it to me. "Sure. Won't do you much good, though."

I look at her, confused, before shifting to the paper.

The first line just says, "WOW!"

The second line says, "I love this man."

The third one says, "Oh, my God."

The fourth line is just gibberish scribbles.

"I think I like this better," I tell her softly.

She takes my face in her hands, kissing me. "I couldn't even remember _how_ to write that last time. I don't know how I managed to even stop."

I tighten my arms around her, and I feel her body start to slump a bit. I grab at the blankets, pulling them down, and we reluctantly shift part so we can crawl under together, our arms and legs immediately wrapping around each other, holding each other close.

"Maybe it's incredibly cheesy to tell you this," she says quietly, her voice muffled by my neck. "But the fact that I can tell you that I love you while we're having sex is the most incredible thing in the world."

I feel a shiver run through me as my heart thumps erratically a few more times. "I love you, Monica."

Her arms give me a little squeeze. "Of course, it's kind of nice to hear it, period."

"Then I'll say it all the time," I whisper, resting my cheek on top of her head.

"Promise?" she asks, her voice fading, sleep taking hold.

"Promise."

Forever, I add silently.

Forever.

*A/N…everyone has been asking for a tape measure fic, and for the longest time I couldn't think of ANYTHING. Then…a wild thought appeared. And this bears very little resemblance to that original thought, but I think it always works out better that way. Anyway, I hope this satisfies the curiosity of at least a few of you.


	23. Chapter 23

I sigh and as covertly as possible check my watch. I fight back a groan; Phoebe and Rachel have been picking at me for information about Chandler and me for well over an hour now.

I _knew_ when Rachel suggested have a girl's night she didn't really want to have a girl's night. But there was that little part of me that hoped I was wrong, that maybe the three of us just haven't spent a lot of time together lately.

One of these days, I'll learn to trust my instincts.

It was subtle at first; just casual mentions of relationships, sort of in a roundabout way trying to get information out of me. I'm not dealing in subtlety right now, though. These are my best friends in the world, and part of me wants more than anything to tell them all the wonderful things that have happened to me in the last eight and a half months. But there's this other part of me that's become an expert at keeping this part of my life close and secret, that's almost reluctant to let it all out as if it'll ruin just how magical this whole relationship with Chandler is.

We knew that at some point, some if not all of our friends would want details; that's one of the reasons why we held off on telling anyone about us. I mean, I love my friends, and I love that they care about me, about us, but they can all be a bit much.

And they're all extraordinarily nosy.

I tune in to hear Phoebe laughing hysterically at something Rachel said, something I managed to miss. "Speaking of sardines," she says, gasping for air as she laughs. "Remember that thing you said about hooking up with Chandler in London?"

"There it is," I say, and I have to pause for a moment. That definitely sounded like Chandler—it's no wonder Phoebe picked up on that a couple of months ago. "Yes. Chandler and I hooked up in London." Really, I'm surprised they've both managed to hold off on the interrogation for as long as they have. This must have been killing them.

"So, like, _what_ happened?" Rachel asks, leaning forward on the couch, all pretense of "girl's night" suddenly gone from her posture—she's in full-on busybody mode.

I sigh; how do I start? "It's hard to say."

"Try."

Rachel and I stare at Phoebe; her tone brooks no argument.

"Okay, well, I guess it started at the rehearsal dinner. I mean, I'd already spent the entire trip with my mother making digs at me about not being married, not having a boyfriend, blah blah blah, but I was trying to just be happy for Ross, you know?" I look at Rachel tentatively—I know this part is still a sore subject for her, but she looks completely focused on my story. "Anyway, I was talking with Chandler and this drunk guy thought I was Ross's mother."

Both Rachel and Phoebe wince. "Ouch," Rachel says, taking a sip of her wine.

"Yeah. So, my obvious solution was to get hammered. And Chandler was really, really sweet and tried to comfort me, and when I said I'd never get a boyfriend, he said…" I pause for a moment, what I'm sure is a dreamy smile coming over my face. "He said, 'Who wouldn't want you?'"

"And then you did it?" Phoebe asks, practically draped over the coffee table as she leans in for the story.

"Not quite. I kind of blew off the sentiment and kept drinking. He walked me back to the hotel and we had a few drinks at the bar. I started to get a little too tipsy and he dropped me off at my hotel room, and he probably thought that was that. But...I just wanted to feel good, you know? And I thought sex would help, so…" It's on the tip of my tongue to tell my friends that I wanted to hook up with Joey, but Rachel wouldn't be able to keep something like that in. She'd find some way to tell everyone we know without ever leaving my sight.

"So, your first thought was to go to Chandler?" Rachel asks disbelievingly.

I just shrug. "I was kind of drunk; my judgment wasn't the best at that moment. But Chandler's always been good for cheering me up, so it's not that much of a stretch to go to him." The two of them sort of nod in agreement, so I keep going. "Anyway, he asked how I was doing and told me to get over the self-pity because I was the most beautiful woman in the room that night."

"Awww!" they gush simultaneously and I grin; this is the first time I've been able to tell anybody about this part of my relationship with Chandler.

"Then, he said I was the most beautiful woman in most rooms and I just sort of…threw myself at him. I kissed him, he kissed me back, he asked me how drunk I was, we kissed some more, I noticed that he's a really good kisser…"

"Wasn't it weird, though?" Rachel asks. "When Ross and I first hooked up, it was a little weird, doing all that stuff with him. I kept thinking about the guy I'd spent so much time with for the past year and then the guy who was trying to be romantic and…it was weird."

"It wasn't, though. Not for us. We both noticed that, too. Kissing him felt sort of natural, like it was something we were supposed to do. Then we decided to…get naked, and that wasn't weird, either. It was great. And we just fit together so perfectly, you know? And I don't mean in _that_ way, Pheebs." She throws her hands up in surrender, the comment she'd been about to make obvious. "I mean when he held me and kissed me, it just felt like that was where I belonged, you know?" I twiddle my fingers for a few moments, shifting a little. "But we fit together pretty nicely the other way, too."

"So how was it?" Rachel asks, excitement in her eyes.

I bite my lip to try to contain my smile. "It was amazing."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, my _God_, yes. I've never felt anything like that in my entire life."

"Geez, Mon, it's just sex," Phoebe says, taking a sip of her wine. "With _Chandler_."

I just look at her for a moment. "But it wasn't _just_ sex. It was like…finding what had been missing my whole life. I know that sounds weird because I've known him for so long, but…it was right."

"Was it romantic?" Rachel asks dreamily and I laugh a little.

"Unintentionally, yes. It was incredibly romantic. _He_ is incredibly romantic, and sweet, and passionate—"

"Really?" Phoebe asks, her nose curling up a little. "Chandler? Passionate?"

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, come on, it's _Chandler_."

I think this is what it feels like when your blood actually boils. "What's your point?"

Phoebe looks at Rachel for help, who just shakes her head. "Okay, it's just that Chandler's never really been like _that_. He's not…"

"Not what? Not a good person? Not a great friend? Not incredibly sweet and thoughtful to his friends when they need him to be?"

"Well, I guess he can be those things, but, c'mon. It's _Chandler_."

Without a word, I stand up and go to the kitchen, bracing my hands on the sink. It's nice to know Phoebe has such a high opinion of Chandler.

"Mon, what's wrong?" Rachel asks.

"Nothing. I'm just trying to contain myself with all this fun we're having with you bashing my boyfriend."

"I'm not trying to bash your boyfriend, Monica," Phoebe tells me, following me into the kitchen. "It's just hard to believe that _Chandler_—"

"Could you _stop_ saying his name as if he were some sort of leper? He is an _amazing_ guy, and you know that! He's been your friend for years; I can't believe you think about him this way."

"Okay, look, I'm sorry. I've just never thought of him as that kind of guy before."

"Well, you don't have to think of him as that kind of guy now. I'm the one who has to think of him that way; that's the only part that matters."

Phoebe throws her hands up defensively, backing away from me a few steps. "Hey; he's the one who's been talking about how bad he is with women for years. That was all him. What else am I supposed to go by?"

I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. "Go by _me_. Listen to _me_. I have a lot of firsthand experience with this now. He's _not_ that bad with women. Sure, he's probably awkward with them at first, but he wasn't with me. He _knows_ me. If anything, the reason he's had a tough time with women so far is probably because he comes on too strong."

"What do you mean?" Rachel asks, coming into the kitchen and refilling her wine glass.

"Think about it. Any time we've seen him in a relationship before, does he or does he not throw all he has into it? Isn't he the most attentive, caring, generous, tactile person in the world to that woman? Even with Janice."

Rachel and Phoebe look at each other for a minute, both shrugging a little. "Well, yeah, I guess that's true," Phoebe concedes.

"From the very first moment we decided to try being an 'us,' he has been the most 'there' guy possible. He was instantly my boyfriend, even if we weren't calling it that yet. He wanted to hold my hand all the time, and he'd send me flowers at work, or call me just to say, 'hi'. He would sneak over here in the middle of the night just to spend a few hours with me. This was all in the first few weeks. That's the sort of thing that freaks most girls out, even if they say they want a relationship. But it worked for us because all I wanted was to spend time with him. I want someone who wants to be around me like that all time that can even _stand_ being around me like that all the time. We _like_ being joined at the hip. He misses me when I'm not around and he's not afraid to tell me." Even as pissed off as I am right now, it feels amazing to finally be able to tell someone about how wonderful this man is to me. "Remember—months ago—when you'd just gotten back from Greece, Rache, and Chandler leaned over and kissed me?"

I can actually see understanding dawn on their faces simultaneously. "Oh…" Rachel says, almost looking off to the distance as she remembers that incident, and probably a dozen others. "That's because you two were…"

"Right. We'd only been together for about a week at that point and he was casually kissing me goodbye, like it was the most natural thing in the world. It _is_ the most natural thing in the world. Sleeping in the same bed, waking up next to each other, kissing, sex…all of it has felt completely right, like that's how it's supposed to be."

The two of them look at me in silence for a few moments before slowly walking back into the living room, resuming their seats. I take a few deep breaths and follow a minute later. This is not at all how I pictured this conversation going, but I can't say as I'm surprised.

"This is why we avoided telling you guys about us for long," I say, curling myself into the chair once more.

They both have the nerve to look offended. "What's that supposed to mean?" Rachel asks.

"Between all the questions and then all the judgment you're throwing around…yeah, we didn't want to deal with that. We both knew if we had to deal with it early on, we wouldn't last through it. He may be incredibly sweet and romantic, but he still scares easy. I never know what's going to throw him for a loop and what won't. I mean, when I first told him we were in a relationship, he smiled and kissed me. He was so happy about it. Then he accidentally told me he loved me at Thanksgiving—"

"WHAT?!" they exclaim simultaneously and my eyes grow wide—I forgot that they didn't know about that yet.

"I'll get to that," I promise. "But he said it then and he freaked out. Then he said it a couple of weeks ago and hasn't been able to _stop_ saying it. But that's why it was better to keep it quiet. I mean, look how freaked out you guys got him just a week ago with all that talk about marriage and babies. He's not ready for it. _I'm_ not ready for it. But we knew that would be the first thing all of you would want to know. So, it was horrible to not be able to talk to you guys about this amazing relationship I've been in for most of a year, but I knew the longer we kept it all quiet, the better my chances of keeping Chandler were going to be."

The room is silent for a few minutes, only the ticking of the clock and the sound of the city outside keep the quiet from being oppressive.

"You two _are_ going to get married, though, right?" Rachel asks suddenly and I groan loudly.

"Rachel…"

"No, seriously. That's where you see this headed, right? You guys have been together for almost a year now; you can't tell me you haven't at least _thought_ about it."

I shrug, plucking at the arm of the couch as I avoid their eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. "I don't know."

"Oh, my God, you so have," Phoebe exclaims, smiling at me.

"Maybe once or twice." A day, I add silently. It's really not hard picturing myself getting married to Chandler. I've always been able to picture my wedding, but the guy standing at the other end of the aisle wasn't always so clear. The only other person I could picture was Richard. But now…it's just Chandler. Chandler saying, "I do," Chandler that I'll have kids with, Chandler growing old with me. The picture is so clear, so…right. I don't think that picture will come true tomorrow or anything, but I think he's the one it'll be.

My forever guy.

Rachel smiles, and I can tell just the thought of a wedding is getting her excited. "I can totally see you two living happily ever after."

A huge grin splits my face. "Me, too. But you guys _can't_ mention any of this to Chandler, okay? None of this marriage stuff. It's way too soon, and I can't handle him freaking out again. _If_ we decide to get married, it'll be when we're ready and it's the right thing for us to do. Okay?"

"Okay," Phoebe agrees, and Rachel nods, but I can tell she's formulating more questions.

"Go ahead," I tell her with a sigh.

"Well…can we go back to your London story?"

Somehow, I managed to forget that's what we were talking about to begin with. "Sure. What did you want to know?"

"You said it was amazing. But, like, amazing in what way?"

I really have no idea how to explain this properly, and I don't want to be too graphic. "Think about…the best sex you've ever had. _Ever_." They both nod, waiting. "Now, picture that with someone who knows you better than anyone else, someone who's spent years hearing you talk about different guys and what women like and dislike. Someone who took the time to study the diagram of the seven erogenous zones and who is more than capable of hitting all of those spots."

"Yeah, I can't," Phoebe says.

"Me neither," Rachel agrees, and I just shrug, not surprised. Neither of them have spent that much time just being friends with someone before starting a relationship. In all fairness, _most_ people don't spend ten years being friends before hooking up. We're definitely an exception to the rule.

"Well, that's what it's like. It's unreal. Part of it was so comfortable, you know? We were already so at ease with each other. There was no nervousness about being naked together. But it was also exciting because I'd never been able to see that side of Chandler before. Having all of his energy focused on me…it was intense. Sex was intense."

"Tell us about it," Phoebe asks, a gleam in her eye, and I mentally roll my eyes. She's always been kind of a voyeur.

"Which time?" I ask, feeling smug.

"…What do you mean, which time?" Rachel asks, lifting an eyebrow at me.

"Well, we had sex more than once that night, so which time did you want to hear about?"

"How many times did you have sex that night?"

A grin spreads over my face. "Seven."

"No way," Phoebe says, flopping to the ground, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Oh, believe me. We had sex seven times that night."

"Yeah, well, how many times did you orgasm?" she asks, looking pretty smug herself.

"Ten."

Both of their mouths drop as they stare at me. "Nuh-uh," Rachel says in a whisper.

I pause for a moment, double checking the math. "Yeah. Ten."

"How did you even survive the night?" she breathes, and I just shrug, feeling shivers run through my body at the memory of it all.

"There's no way," Phoebe says. "Not possible."

"I don't know, Pheebs," Rachel says, dragging her eyes away from me. "I share a wall with the two of them. It's only been a couple of weeks, but I've heard some stuff. I think Chandler knows what he's doing."

"But...but…_ten_?"

"Does it make you feel any better to know that we haven't managed to replicate that night?"

"Not really." She looks stunned. "Wow. My sex life seems dull in comparison."

"You know, not that I was _trying_ to pay attention," Rachel says, "but you guys went at it pretty hard that night you first said the 'I love you's'."

I blush a little, even though the memory of that night is pretty spectacular. "Yeah, well…that was a special occasion."

"I'll say. But what about that night you guys thought I wasn't home and you were screaming?"

I can actually feel my face grow red as Phoebe asks, "What? What night? What are you talking about?"

"Remember Monica's secret boyfriend?" Phoebe nods and Rachel just gestures to me; understanding dawns on Phoebe's face. "_Chandler_ was the secret boyfriend. And there was this one night I heard them going at it in her room. I got home early from a date and they didn't know I was home, and there was _definitely_ screaming."

"I…I don't know that I was _screaming_," I protest weakly, even though I remember that night vividly; there was screaming.

"It sounded like someone was killing you," Rachel tells me, deadpan, and I smirk a little; that's not the first time we've heard that about ourselves.

"Okay, but, that was a special night. It was just about our four month anniversary, and it was our first time without a condom—"

Rachel sputters, gaping at me. "You've been having unprotected sex?"

"Well, no. I went on the pill so we wouldn't have to worry about condoms anymore. That was just the first night we got to go bareback. It was pretty intense. Plus, I'd…" I pause, sighing. "I'd just realized a few days before that I was in love with him and I was still kind of processing that."

Rachel looks confused for a moment. "Just realized you were in love with him? But, Mon, that was months ago."

"Yeah, I know."

"You've been in love with him for that long and you didn't say anything?"

I feel tears fill the corners of my eyes and I bite the inside of my cheek to try to keep myself in check. "I didn't want to risk losing him, and if I told him that early on that I loved him, he would have gotten scared. It's like I kept telling myself; I could live without telling him how I felt, but I couldn't live without him. I was happy to keep it to myself for a while if it meant that I'd still have him today. Look; I know it's crazy to think about, but this guy is everything to me. I love him more than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life. I get happy just thinking about him; he makes my heart race."

"I can't believe you kept that from him for so long," Rachel whispers, tears shining in her eyes, too.

"I can't believe you kept all of this from us for so long," Phoebe exclaims. "How'd you do it?"

"It wasn't easy, and we nearly slipped up on more than one occasion. But it helps that we've always been pretty tactile with each other—"

"Oh, my God! _That's_ it!" Rachel exclaims, making me jump.

"What's it?"

"Well, I mean, now you guys are sitting around holding hands, arms wrapped around each other, sitting on his lap, and the only thing odd about it is that I don't think the two of you doing have been doing a whole lot of that lately."

"Oh, that's true!" Phoebe exclaims. "You two have always been that way. You're always super affectionate. That's why it doesn't seem weird to see you guys being a couple. Other than all the kissing; I still haven't gotten used to seeing that. But that whole closeness-thing? You've been doing that forever."

All I can do is nod because it's true. Chandler and I have pretty much always been close. Even Richard asked me about it years ago, though at the time I didn't think much about it; it was just the way we've always been. But, we've used that to our advantage more than once over the last eight and a half months.

"Anyway," Phoebe says suddenly. "I want to hear more about how Chandler is in bed."

Rachel looks at me with sudden interest. "Is he really the best sex you've ever had?"

"Oh, he really is. Really, really is. Let me tell you; I've been with him for almost nine months, and I've never faked it."

I swear they both look like they're going to hit me. "Okay, you're lying," Phoebe says.

"You don't have to believe me," I tell her, taking a triumphant sip of my forgotten wine. "He is _very_ eager to please, and he has never once been only concerned with himself. Believe me when I say that I have no cause for complaint. And…" I lean forward conspiratorially. "His mouth is magic," I say softly.

Phoebe's nostrils flare the tiniest bit, and Rachel's cheeks turn a little pink, and I lean smugly back in my chair.

They're still searching for words when there's a tap at the door, followed immediately by Chandler's head poking in. I feel myself sit up a little straighter, my smile growing wider, my heartbeat picking up a bit. "Sorry to interrupt."

"That's okay," I tell him. He grins lopsidedly at Phoebe and Rachel as he makes his way over to me. He places his hands on the arms of the chair, leaning over me and kissing me gently.

"I just wanted to say good night," he tells me softly.

"You're going to bed? Without me?"

He looks a little surprised. "I thought you were gonna hang out here. You know, girls' night and all that."

I peek under his arm at Phoebe and Rachel; I know I've been neglecting them a little lately, but I'm still in that phase where I want to be around Chandler all the time, and now that I can be open about it, it's hard to not take advantage of every single second.

Phoebe waves at me, feigning disgust. "Go."

I grin wildly. "Thank you." I give Chandler a quick kiss. "I'm coming with you."

His smile matches my own. "Good." He grabs my hands, pulling me to my feet, and our arms immediately go around each other. "Thank you," he says to Phoebe and Rachel, though he keeps his eyes on me. "I sleep better with her next to me."

"Awwww." It sounds like it's in stereo coming from the both of them. He smiles down at them, and his eyes grow wide as he jumps back a little.

"What?"

I turn my attention to my friends, trying to give them a death glare when I see the way they're looking at my boyfriend. "Nothing," I say pointedly, but they just grin at me and I push Chandler through the door.

"What was that?" he asks as we get into the hallway, turning around so he can hold me for a minute away from prying eyes.

"Believe me," I say, standing on tiptoe. "You don't want to know."

I kiss him, and all else is forgotten.

* * *

*A/N…look, the intent of that last author's note wasn't to get more reviews, but to get honest answers about lack of interest in seeing my stories posted here. I don't want to be that person that everyone dreads seeing, who's posts too much crap, whatever. That's all I'm asking. I'm fairly certain that, regardless of posting, the writing would continue at this point, so it's not an issue of me not enjoying it. I post it because I like to share it and I hope that people like to read it. If they don't, that's totally fine—I'll stop. Just let me know. It's just disheartening (and I know I'm not alone in this) to see that a lot of people are visiting your stuff, but not commenting on it, especially compared to the feedback other fics get; it honestly makes me question what I'm doing and if people are enjoying this in any way, shape, or form. That's where this is coming from-if lots of people visit but don't review, what else are writers to assume but people just aren't interested.

There's a lovely little batch of people who review religiously; you guys rock, and I thank you from the bottom of the pit of my chest for being so great. I don't fault any of you for not reviewing instantaneously. Again, it's not necessarily about the reviews; it's about not wanting to be obnoxious.

Also, completely unrelated, I started writing a version of this story back in May and have been working on it haphazardly ever since. I used it as a guideline for this chapter, but there's more than a few differences. If anyone wants to see it, I'll send it to you in a private message.


	24. Chapter 24

Monica's extraordinarily competitive nature is a little disturbing at times. The obsessive need to be right, to always win, to come out on top tends to go to the extremes. I know she grew up in a very competitive household, and constantly being second-best to her brother certainly didn't help, but this might be a bit much.

She now feels the need to prove to Phoebe and her boyfriend of just a few weeks are not hotter than we are. I'm not even sure I really know what that means aside from having a lot of sex with Monica.

Which would be why I'm sprinting upstairs with her to her apartment.

She may be scary competitive, but I'm not completely stupid. I've spent too many of my adult years going without sex to start turning it down now, at least when Monica's the one offering.

She throws open her door and we rush inside, and a moment later I'm being shoved against the counter, her lips attacking me, her hands everywhere. I rip my jacket off, tossing it to the floor, and grab her waist, pulling her roughly to me.

"Bedroom," she whispers against my lips and I just shake my head.

"Nope." I push her a little, moving her until her back hits the wall next to the door.

If she wants hot, running off to the bedroom isn't going to accomplish that.

I press my body into hers, her arms wrapping around my neck as she pulls herself up a little kissing me fiercely.

I grope around her back for a minute, finding the zipper to her skirt and tugging it loose. She gives her hips a little shake and the garment slides to the ground. She presses her hips into me, rubbing herself against me eagerly. I grip the side of her panties in my hand, desperately wishing in that moment that I had the ability to actually tear them off of her. Unfortunately, we know from experience that all that happens is a lot of tugging at her underwear.

Her fingers hastily undo the buttons of my vest, trying to push it down my arms. I release her one arm a time, shaking it off me, pulling her close again. I grab the hem of her shirt, pushing it up over her breasts, exposing her bra, her breasts straining against the silky material as she breathes heavily. I don't even bother trying to pull her shirt off the rest of the way.

I pull my lips from hers, both of us gasping as we stare at each other for a few moments. I kiss her chest, biting at her soft flesh as I work my way down her stomach, kissing her belly button, sucking gently at her hipbones as I drop down to my knees. Her fingers dig into my shoulders as I look up at her, pressing a kiss to the edge of her panty line, grabbing the fabric with my teeth and giving them a little tug before I pull them down her legs. She steps out of them and drag my lips down her leg, stopping when I get to her knee-high boots.

"Want me to take them off?" she asks, breathlessly.

"Yeah, right," I scoff, tossing her leg over my shoulder and burying my face between her thighs, my tongue immediately finding her center, and she yells out. I look up at her; her back is arched way far away from the wall, her arms spread out as her fingers flex against the wall. I wrap my arms around her thighs, holding her up, keeping her in place and moan in happiness. Right now, I don't care _what_ the reasons are for having a lot of sex; I get to be with the woman I love and do wonderful, obscene things to her.

I scoot myself a little closer, moving my mouth against her more firmly, the muscles in her legs shaking slightly, and it occurs to me that I don't think we've ever done this with her standing. She's giving me a lot of control right now, putting a hell of a lot of faith in me. It may be as much of a turn on as her writhing, glowing body.

I slow my motions down just a little, lessening the pressure, and she whines in protest. "Don't stop."

"I'm not," I assure her, speaking against her, and her entire body vibrates, a tiny wail leaving her throat.

"God," she moans slowly, her body drooping against the wall, her hips moving against me, her boot tapping against my back in time with my mouth.

I get to do this to her. That thought suddenly fills my stupid, male ego with such pride, and I apply more pressure without warning, using my teeth to gently scrape at her. Her hips buck wildly a few times, one of her hands fisting in my hair, pulling at me almost violently, and I hiss against her at the sensation—a little painful, but more than a little erotic.

I suck at her a few times—hard—reveling in the way she moans my name before I slowly move my mouth from her, her leg sliding off my shoulder. Blindly, she grabs my tie, pulling me up, and I stagger to my feet, legs already shaky from the taste of her. I capture her lips with mine again, both of us moaning to each other, our voicing mingling, becoming one. Her hands go to my belt, pulling at it frantically, working at my fly next, her hands brushing against me in her haste. My entire body shudders at the contact, my body straining toward her.

She pushes my pants and underwear down just enough to release my erection, pulling me toward her, her intense heat enveloping me. I grab her leg again, pulling it around my waist, and her other leg immediately follows, tightening around me. I take a deep breath, planting my feet firmly on the ground, taking her ass in my hands and slam into her. Her hands grab fistfuls of my shirt, yelling loudly into my ear.

I have no idea how long I can sustain this; I wish it could last forever. "You feel so good," I pant into her ear, making her whimper.

"You do," she answers. I feel her tongue trace the shell of my ear and I shiver. I think this woman will be the death of me.

I bury my face against her chest, my hips pounding against her ceaselessly. Her body wraps around me tightly and I feel sweat start to drip down my face. I bend my neck down as far as it will go, nipping at her breasts, still firmly encased in the satiny cups. She reaches a hand in between us, in between her breasts, giving the bra little flick, and it pops open. "Oh, God, I love front clasps," I groan as her breasts spill out; I chase after them with my lips, attacking her sloppily.

"I know," she gasps, taking one in her hand and guiding it toward my mouth, holding it in place for me as I try to hold on to her, try to keep up this phenomenal pace.

Dear lord, I love this woman.

I suck at her nipple, tugging it between my teeth, and her nails dig into my back through my shirt. "GOD!" she exclaims, pushing her chest against me a little harder. "Do it again."

Well, if I have to. I tug at her again and she jerks against me. She releases her breast suddenly, grabbing the other one and shoving it at me. Instantly, I latch onto that one, biting at her soft skin, probably hard enough to leave a few marks.

Wouldn't be the first time.

I moan against her flesh, kissing and sucking at as much as I can reach and I glance up at her; her eyes are focused on me as she breathes heavily, watching my every move, and it's unnerving in the best way possible. Despite the hurried motions of our hips, I slow my mouth down, teasing her languorously, and her eyes drift shut as her mouth opens, letting out a deep moan.

My knees start to shake, buckling just a little. Monica immediately unravels her legs, her feet sliding to the floor, and I feel myself fall out of her, shuddering as cool air hits me.

I sink to my knees once more, my entire body starting to feel shaky, and she grabs my tie, loosening it and pulling it over my head, tossing it toward the couch. She pops open the first couple of buttons on my shirt and we yank it off together.

She kneels in front of me, her arms sliding around my shoulders, pulling me in for a kiss. My hands go to her hair and I fumble around for a few moments before I'm finally able to pull the little sticks out of Monica's hair, letting it tumble free. I tug at her shirt, and she pulls away long enough to remove it before wrapping her arms around me again, her bra still dangling off of her. I carefully lower her to the floor, cradling her head so she doesn't get hurt.

Her legs wrap around me again, pulling me close, and I realize she still has her boots on, which is incredibly hot. I wiggle loose a little, my lips trailing down her throat, her sternum, her belly button. I grab her legs and pull them over my shoulders, lifting up onto my knees a little.

"What're you doing?" she asks, her eyes going wide, her chest moving a little more rapidly.

"You wanted it hot, right?" I ask, my lips attacking her before I can get an answer, keeping my eyes on her face.

The only thing better than doing this to her is getting to watch her while I do it. She gets to a whole different level of hot. She groans loudly, one of her hands going to her to forehead as the other reaches out to my arm, trying to find something to grab. She has zero leverage in this position with half of her body in midair as I go to town on her; she has to rely on me to do all the work.

And this is definitely the sort of work I enjoy.

Her legs cross behind my neck, pulling me in tighter and I chuckle a little; she cries out at the sensation and I tighten my grip on her thighs, my fingers spreading out, playing with her belly button. Her stomach muscles twitch, her thigh muscles shake, and she gasps as her hips push against me.

I nip at her a few more times and I can tell she's right on the edge, so I move my mouth abruptly, gently lowering her to the floor.

Her eyes open wide as I gently stroke her skin, hovering over her, waiting to see what she wants to do next.

"You're a terrible human being," she finally whispers, her voice shaky, and I grin at her, leaning over to kiss her briefly. Her legs curl up, her feet pushing my pants down my legs to my ankles and she tries to pull me back to her.

I sink into her for a few minutes, enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, her body undulating beneath mine, before I pull away again, leaning back to take off my pants. I stand and gather what I can find of our clothing that's scattered across her apartment and, as casually as possible, walk over to her bedroom and toss the clothes into a heap at the foot of her bed. I then lean against her doorframe, waiting.

She's still on the floor by the front door, propped up on her elbows, looking at me incredulously, almost as if she's waiting for me to come back. I just raise an eyebrow at her, crossing my arms over my chest, marveling for the briefest of moments at how unconcerned I am at parading around her apartment completely naked and fully aroused.

It's kind of a fun sensation.

She sighs heavily and slowly moves into a standing position, shaking her bra off finally, and walks toward me. Even more blood rushes south at the sight of her strutting across her apartment wearing nothing but boots.

This woman…I don't know why she's mine. I don't know how I managed to get someone this unbelievably hot, this ridiculously sexy. Right now, I don't care. All I know is that she _is_ mine.

She's almost in front of me when she stops suddenly and turns around, bending over in front of the desk by the window.

"Oh, no," she deadpans. "I seemed to have dropped something."

I know she's teasing me and I really don't care. I rush at her, my greedy fingers grabbing onto her hips and she straightens out a little, bracing her hands on the desk. I glance out the window briefly and see that Ross's curtains are drawn, so I lower my head, kissing my way up her spine. Her head tilts back, her mouth falling open and my lips travel across her cheek, meeting her own lips, kissing her slowly. She pushes her hips back against mine, creating slow friction, and I rub myself against her. Her legs spread just a little farther apart and she whispers, "Inside," against my lips. I groan and push into her and she immediately tightens herself around me.

My eyes open wide and I breathe deeply, almost done in by the sensation. I dig my fingers into her hips, trying to hold her still and she giggles at me. I stand up straight and she looks at me over her shoulder, her eyes dark with desire and I move against her instinctively, without any sort of conscious thought.

She keeps her eyes on mine as she starts to moan. "Ohhh. Ohhhhh, yeah. Oh, God. Baby, yes. Oh, God, YES." My entire body starts to shake as I try not to give in. Monica's hot—she's always hot. She's even hotter when we have sex. The sounds she makes during sex are incredible. But when she watches me as she vocally expresses her pleasure…there's nothing like it. There's no way to describe it. "Hot" is not enough. It's so good it makes me want to weep.

I slide my hands up her, finding her breasts, cupping them roughly in my hands. I see her grit her teeth and she moves against me faster, harder, and I swear she growls. For a few moments, my mind goes back to the first time we did it like this, all the way back in London; I can't help but remember how unsure we both were, how we weren't sure yet of what each other liked or didn't like, what would be too much to ask for that first—and what we thought would be the only—night. It was so unbelievably hot when she grabbed the headboard and looked over her shoulder at me, asking if I liked doggy style.

How far we've come since then. How much better everything is. That first night was fantastic—better than anything I'd experienced up to that point—and it's only gotten better since then.

"Remember the first time we did this?" she gasps in between thrusts, and I laugh a little, amazed but not terribly surprised that we're that in sync with each other.

"I was just thinking about that," I pant, gripping her a little harder. "It was amazing."

"This is better." She closes her eyes for a few moments, her head falling forward as she groans.

"Why's that?"

Her eyes open again, and she looks at me once more—they're still dark and smoky, but there's so much more in them. "Because now I love you."

I shiver at her words, my motions stilling as I struggle for air. "I love you, too."

She pushes her hips against me, wiggling, and I start moving again, a little slower this time, with a bit more care. "Ohhhhhh, Chandler." She gasps a few times as we move together. "I knew then, you know? I knew I could fall in love with you. That night was all I needed."

I nearly collapse on top of her; I drape myself across her back, pressing my forehead into her shoulder blade. I had no idea. I never knew she felt that way back then. It's almost more than I can take. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her tight against my body, my hips still pushing against hers in long, slow strokes. "I love you, Monica," I whisper again; I don't know what else to say at this point, or what else would make her understand what I feel for her.

"Can we move this to the bed?" she asks softly, and I kiss her shoulder, pulling out of her slowly. We straighten at the same time and she turns to face me, her arms wrapping around my neck. She strokes the hair at the nape of my neck for a moment, smiling at me softly. I hold her waist gently and lean down to kiss her, carefully steering her into the bedroom. Her knees hit the edge of the bed and she sits down, and together we work her boots off her sweaty legs. She grabs at the blankets, pushing them down then takes my hands, scooting back to the head of the bed, pulling me with her and together we crawl under in between the sheets.

She pulls me on top of her and my hands frame her face, gently stroking her cheeks as we stare at each other for a few moments. She smiles at me and I lean down and kiss her tenderly; she sighs happily against my mouth. Considering how intense this started out, we've certainly done a complete about face. I'm okay with that. I like that she can make me feel and experience so many things at one time. My need for her can be extreme, almost to the point of frightening, and so very powerful, and then…then it turns unbearably tender and sweet and the most loving experience in the world.

I wouldn't want this with anyone else.

She wraps her legs around me, pushing herself up a little. I press my forehead against hers and shift myself into position, sliding into her once more. She groans loudly, her head falling to the side and I feel her fingernails dig into my shoulders. It doesn't seem to matter that we've been behaving like porn stars since we ran into her apartment…however long ago that was. _That_ moment is always amazing.

She shudders a few times then starts pushing against me frantically—so much for sweet and tender. I feel her lips on my neck, my collarbone, and she kisses down to my chest, her teeth grazing my skin. I grab her leg, moving it up a little higher on my hip. I feel her thighs tighten around me and I moan out her name. She bites my shoulder—hard—and her head drops back down to the bed, her eyes glazed over as I drive into her.

"Ohhh," she whimpers, her face contorting beautifully. "Baby. Ohhhhhh."

I love it. I love hearing her talk during sex. I never knew she was so vocal. I don't know if she's always been like this, and frankly, I don't care. It doesn't matter; I can let myself believe that I bring this out in her, that she makes all of these erotic, wonderful sounds all because of what I do to her. It makes this incredibly hot woman even hotter.

I lean down and kiss her neck, pumping my hips into her, the feeling of her surrounding me almost too much to bear. I can't believe we've been going at it for this long. I can't believe I've managed to hold myself off like this. I just don't ever want it to end.

I grab her hips and thrust against her harder and she gasps out, "Yes! Oh, YES!"

I push a little harder; I certainly don't want to hurt her, but if it's working for her, I don't want to stop, either.

"Oh, God, yeah, like that. Do it again."

Why is the woman so hot? I grit my teeth and lift my torso off hers, bracing my hands on either side of her thighs. I dig my knees into the mattress and slam into her with short, quick strokes. I look down at her and her head is thrown back, her mouth open as she moans, her eyes shut, her body moving in time with my own, her fingers digging into me, holding on for dear life.

She's breathtaking.

I literally cannot breathe for a few moments as I watch her.

Everything in my starts to tingle. "God, Mon," I whisper. "You're perfect."

Her eyes fly open and meet mine; she grins at me, her eyes twinkling with happiness. I feel her tighten her legs around me just moments before she shoves me, flipping us over, and I'm suddenly flat on my back with her sitting on top of me. She runs her fingers down my chest for a few moments before bracing her hands on my pecs, moving her hips against me once more, her head falling back.

I reach out and slide my fingers across her, feeling her body jerk as I make contact with her wonderful bundle of nerves. She rolls her hips against me and I bite my lip, trying not break just yet.

I don't think I'll be very successful.

This position is tied for first as my favorite. I _ love_ being on top of her, feeling her beneath me, taking control of the action, having her wrap around me so sensuously. But this, seeing her moving on top of me…that's pretty outstanding, too. I love being able to see so much of her, watching her body move, the hypnotic motion of her breasts and seeing us joined as she slides down on me over and over and over again.

Honestly, though, as long as she lets me be part of the action, I'm good with any position she wants.

She grabs my hands, linking our fingers together; I love watching that part, too. I love holding her hand. Holding hands during sex is one of those things that just gets me right in my heart.

It only lasts a few moments, though, because she brings our joined hands to her breasts. I squeeze them, cup them, and she slides her hands up and down my forearms, her hips moving faster.

"Oh, God," she whispers, and gently pinch her nipples, watching her mouth drop, her entire body responding. "Oh, _God_," she says again, louder this time. She rocks against me harder, and I'm suddenly aware of the headboard hitting the wall—I love when we can make that happen.

I move one hand back down between her thighs, rubbing my fingers against her vigorously. Her eyes slam shut and she drops her chin to her chest. "Ohhhhhhhhh."

"Yeah, baby," I whisper. "You're so hot."

Without warning, slides off me, dragging the sheet with her, wrapping it around her body. My eyes grow wide as I stare at her; I'm lying prone on the bed, chest heaving, erection actually twitching, and she's just standing there, casually.

She leans over me, putting her hand on my chest. "That's for earlier," she whispers, then turns and leaves the room.

I stare after her, gasping for air, trying to compute what she just said. "Earlier" what? What did I do? We came in, started ripping off clothes, had sex…

Well, I did kind of leave her lying on the floor.

I guess I deserved this.

My body starts to shake suddenly from my pent-up orgasm, my groin tightening considerably. I groan and turn onto my side, hunching over for a moment painfully.

"Monica?" I call out, my voice shamefully weak.

Silence.

I groan again, this time in frustration. Now I have to look for her. I don't know if I can even walk right now, but I desperately need to find her.

Shakily, I move my feet over the side of the bed, planting them on the floor. I take a few deep breaths and stand, gasping. My body shakes a little harder, and grab my bathrobe off the back of her door to cover my suddenly chilly, lonely body.

As I pull the robe over myself, I realize for the first time that I've been keeping my bathrobe here. I don't know why I didn't realize that until now. A lot of my clothes have been making their way over here, even though it only takes moments for me to go back and forth. But a lot of my jeans and shirts are mixed in with hers; a few of my work suits, too, and now, apparently, my bathrobe.

I don't hate it.

In fact, our clothes look pretty nice mixed together.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts when my erection twinges painfully and I hunch over once more, staggering out into the living room.

She's sitting on the couch, the sheet draped over her body strategically, only barely covering her goods. She's smiling at me serenely, but I can see she's still breathing rapidly, her chest flushed. She licks her lips just a little and I stumble over to her, collapsing next to her. She reaches over and loosens the sash on my robe, pushing it open. I tug at her sheet and it puddles around her with very little resistance.

I grab her leg and pull her onto my lap, and she wastes no time in sinking down on me once more, her need to make me pay already gone.

I nearly explode from the feeling of her around me, her internal muscles actually quivering around my sensitive flesh, and I can tell we're both in the home stretch. This endless, amazing game of cat-and-mouse is winding down, and I don't know if I'll be able to live through it.

But what a way to go.

She braces her hands on my shoulders and starts to move, her motions quick and determined, both of us already gasping for air. I grab her face, pulling her lips to mine, kissing her even though we both need the oxygen.

She doesn't seem to mind.

Her hips rotate against me in small, powerful circles and I tremble. She pulls her mouth from mine, staring down at me, soft noises falling from her mouth, all words gone from us right now, words not necessary.

She slides a hand around my neck, pulling my face to her chest, and even in my extraordinarily sex-addled mind, I'm able to pick up on that less than subtle hint. I take a nipple in my mouth and suck, hard.

She cries out, her fingers digging into the back of my head.

I suck at her again, and I can feel her entire body shake.

I move to her other breast, pulling that nipple in between my teeth—gently, but somehow forcefully.

Her entire body jerks against me, her hips moving faster, both of us just rotating against each other now, no space between us at all.

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her as close as I can, gasping against her chest for a few moments before I close my mouth around her once more.

Her entire body tenses up and goes still; I look up at her, my hips still driving up into her, unable to stop. Her mouth is open, her eyes wide, and I swear that she's not breathing.

Then she's pounding against me, screaming, her body releasing the orgasm that's been building all this time and I can't handle it. I bury my face in her chest more and groan, trying to keep up with her, this feeling of release completely unbelievable, so intense, I feel like I'm actually dying.

She buries her face in my neck suddenly, her moans going directly into my ear, our arms wrapping even more tightly around one another, neither one of us able to slow down, our orgasm drawing out into eternity.

I think I black out; there's a period of time I can't account for. All I know is that I feel things, amazing things, wonderful, beautiful, powerful things, but it's almost as if it's all so intense that I have to separate myself from it.

I blink a few times, her apartment suddenly very bright, and I kiss her shoulder gently. She's draped across me limply, spent.

I understand that feeling.

I want to hold her, but don't have the ability to.

Slowly, lazily, we manage to drag our faces together, meeting in a sloppy kiss, barely able to bring ourselves under control for that length of time. Carefully, she slides off me, both of wincing, our bodies wonderfully sore.

I drag my bathrobe shut and manage to prop my feet up on the coffee table as I breathe heavily. I look over at her and she's wrapping the sheet around her body once more, smiling happily, looking completely satisfied.

She looks up at me and strokes my cheek, pulling me in for another kiss. We only break apart to breathe. She props her feet up next to mine, giving me a gentle, teasing nudge, and I lean against her, still trying to form coherent thoughts.

I can barely from _non _coherent thoughts.

She's still smiling happily, her head lolling back against the couch.

"That was amazing," I finally gasp.

It was better than amazing, but it's the best I can do for right now.

I think she's okay with that.

*A/N…the challenge; how to make it hot. I hope I was successful. If any of you get pregnant after reading this…sorrynotsorry.

Also, I don't think Monica was actually wearing boots in this ep—I think it was brown tights. So, I took some creative liberties.


	25. Chapter 25

"Hey, Mon? You know we just missed our floor, right?"

I laugh a little, keeping my hands on Chandler's back, pushing him up the stairs. "I told you—I have a surprise for you."

"I know, but I thought it would involve you being naked."

"I don't know that me being naked is that much of a surprise anymore," I tell him, rolling my eyes even though he can't see it.

"Works for me."

"Shocking. But you know, not everything has to revolve around sex."

"I'm aware. It's just a nice bonus."

I tickle his sides for a second before I put my hands on his back again. "Don't worry—you'll get your bonus."

"Oooo, baby."

"Less talking, more walking."

He gives me his best put upon a sigh and continues up the stairs, pausing when we get to the door to the roof. "Uh, Monica?"

"Uh, Chandler?"

He throws me a look over his shoulder, his brow furrowing just a bit and I grin at him broadly—after all these months together, my capacity for sarcasm has increased exponentially. "You're lucky you're cute," he tells me, his tone teasing.

"I know," I answer cheekily, reaching around him to push open the door.

"Seriously, Monica, what's going on?"

"Would you just shut up and take a few more steps? I promise you I'm not leading you into a trap."

He shrugs casually, finally walking out onto the roof. "I never know with you."

I stop in the doorway, waiting, and he pauses mid-step. Slowly, he turns in a circle, taking in the little world I've created up here. "Well?"

"Oh, my God," he breathes, his eyes wide.

I twist my fingers in front of me, inexplicably nervous. "You like it?"

"Monica…" he whispers. "How did you do this? _Why_ did you do this?"

"Tomorrow's our eleven month anniversary, so…" So, I transformed the roof of our apartment building. I strung up old twinkle lights and placed a few electric candles and tea lights, brought up a few old pillows and blankets, and I made more food than we can possibly eat in one night.

He turns and smiles at me, his face filled with wonder, and I instantly feel a bit relieved. "So you decided to do something incredible and amazing for me?"

"Well, for _us_, but yes. I assumed we'd go out to dinner or something tomorrow, but I wanted to do something special, and I kind of like when it's just us, without a bunch of people around. I mean, we didn't really talk about it…" I'm babbling. I don't know why I always get nervous with romantic gestures like this.

I suppose it's because I really want him to like it, and his opinion is the one that matters most to me.

He puts his hands on my waist, pulling me close, grinning as his head ducks down to kiss me. I feel a smile tug at my lips as my arms go around him.

"I'm glad you thought of something because I was coming up with a lot of nothing. We've spent a lot our anniversaries kind of horizontal, and I wanted to do something a little more than that." He looks over his shoulder for a moment at the little nest I've created. "Though it looks like you've planned for that, too."

I give his chest a pat and take his hand, leading him over the blankets. I sit down and give him a tug, and he follows me. "We're not having sex on the roof," I tell him.

"Damn it!"

"Did you _really_ think that was going to be a thing?"

He doesn't look at all ashamed at his train of thought. "Not until I saw all this, but, yeah…I thought that might be the direction this was going in."

I feel exasperated even as I fight a smile. "Honey, there's public sex, and then there's _public sex_. If a neighbor or a low-flying news chopper could see us, it's too public."

He gives my hand a squeeze before propping himself up against the pillows. "I can live with that." He looks around again for a few moments, taking it all in, and even I'm a little impressed that I manage to transform this crappy roof into someplace romantic. It feels more intimate and special up here than in some overpriced restaurant. I shiver suddenly and he looks at me in concern. "You know, just because it's April doesn't mean it's not still cold."

"I know," I answer, scooting over next to him, grabbing his arm and pulling it around me. "That's why there are plenty of blankets. I figured we could…cuddle." I pause—sometimes guys are not a fan of cuddling, and though Chandler doesn't seem to mind it in the slightest when we're in bed, and it's something we've always sort of done anyway, we still haven't had tons of time to be a couple in public. I just don't know how he'll react to planned cuddling.

I'm saved from myself when his other arm wraps around me, pulling in close. "Sounds good to me." He kisses the side of my head and I turn into him a little, pressing myself into him. He strokes my back quietly for a few moments before he says, "So I see there's food."

"Of course."

"Made by you, I'm assuming."

"Naturally."

He actually bounces a little with excitement. "Nice!" It may be something small, but I love that he loves my cooking. It makes me feel ridiculously happy.

"If I'm not going to take you out for our anniversary, the least I can do is cater the affair, you know?"

"I'd rather eat your food any day of the week, Mon."

I tilt my head back and quirk any eyebrow at him. "You don't have to butter me up, you know."

"Is it so wrong that I like my girlfriend's cooking? I get to date a professional chef—you make good food."

"Well, that's true," I agree, and he gives me a nudge, pulling me a little closer.

"What'd you make me?"

I shrug a little. "Mostly just finger foods. Tiny sandwiches, cheeses, things wrapped in pastries, veggies, fruits, dips…"

"Wait a minute—you expect me to sit here and watch you eat food either by my hand or your own and I'm _not_ supposed to think about sex?"

"I never said that you weren't supposed to think about sex. I never said sex wouldn't be a thing. I just said sex on the roof wasn't going to happen."

He snorts a little, grabbing one of the spare blankets and pulling it over us, tucking us in. "We'll see." Before I can react, his lips are on mine, kissing me slowly, deeply, and I whimper a little, melting into his embrace.

This man really is amazing. He's so caring and sweet, even if he is trying to feel me up right now. Even that, though, is fine by me. His hands on me do things I never expected, and never felt before. I come to life under his touch, and not just in a sexual way. I feel…I don't know what I feel. Complete. Strong. Weak.

Being with Chandler is turning me into the person I know I'm supposed to become, as sentimental as that may be. He is quite literally everything to me. The beginning and the end. The yin to my yang, and every other cliché in the world. I'm happier than I ever thought possible with him, and drunkenly stumbling into his hotel room almost a year ago was the best thing I ever could have done.

I know that I want to be with him forever, and even that won't be long enough.

I'm head over heels in love with Chandler Bing. I would laugh at the absurdity of it all if it didn't make such perfect sense.

I slow down the kisses; I can feel us both getting too revved up too fast, and I want to spend some time up here with him.

"Almost a year," I finally whisper against his lips, and he gives me one more gentle kiss before tucking my head under his chin.

"It's kind of a big deal," he murmurs, and I tighten my arms around him, biting my lip; I _will not_ cry right now, even if it is really a big deal.

"I've never been in a relationship for this long." I know he knows that; I know he hasn't, either. Before him, my longest relationship was about five months. I don't know why I couldn't make it work with anyone before now, or why it was always an uphill battle.

Well, maybe I do.

None of those guys were _supposed_ to work out. They were all just primers for the ultimate boyfriend, the guy I didn't realize I'd been dreaming about my entire life.

I spent so much time growing up trying to picture the perfect guy, The One. Aside from a lot of qualities I wanted, many of which changed over the years, there was never a face to go with all of that. I just knew the sort of person I wanted in my life; I wanted him to be smart, funny, sweet, romantic, caring, sexy, someone I could talk to, someone I could count on, a shoulder I could lean on, and I wanted him to be my friend.

And he is. Chandler is all of those things and so many more. It was so obvious that I can't believe it took me so long to realize it. All these years that he's been there for me, that I've been there for him; all the late night talks and hours of television and movies, the endless amounts of coffee and food. He's always been the only person in the world that can talk me down from my proverbial ledges, who knows just what to say to calm me down and help me get my head on straight. Hell, more times than I like to admit, he's been the voice of reason.

Not that long ago, I went nuts trying to prove that we were still all over each other all the time and that we were "hot." But Chandler just told me how excited he was to be doing this with me, that this part—not being frantic to be near each other, but being comfortable with each other and still wanting to be around each other was pretty amazing.

Of course, he was right.

And now, I like that we're not frantic with each other. We're not desperate to get a moment alone with each other, not because our desire for each other now isn't as strong as strong as it as eleven months ago, but because all of this feels so much more real. We can relax now and just enjoy being an "us."

It's the best feeling in the world.

"I haven't, either." It takes me a few moments to pull myself out of my thoughts and realize what he's talking about. "But, you know…it only takes one successful long term relationship."

I think my heart skips a beat...or three. It's gotten easier to talk about a future together—I certainly don't see us ending things any time soon—but we still haven't exactly gotten to the "together forever" discussions. I know we should talk about it at some point, but if I'm being completely honest with myself, it still freaks me out just a little.

I mean, I know I want to be with him forever, but it scares me a little to know that. I don't think I'm completely ready to take that plunge just yet. I just like knowing that it's a possibility.

"You make me so happy," I whisper, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek, tear filling my eyes despite my best efforts.

His fingers thread through my hair as he looks down at me, grinning from ear to ear. "Not nearly as happy as you make me."

Despite my teary eyes, my smile matches his. "I love you so much." He leans down and kisses me again, our lips moving slowly against each other.

This is _definitely_ one of the best parts about being out with our relationship—kissing any time we want to, for as long as we want. No more rushing, no more hiding, just us together when we want to be.

He straightens once more, clearing his throat. "So, are you gonna feed me or what?"

"Yes, dear." I turn to the side, grabbing the picnic basket full of food and settling it between us. "I hope you're not expecting me to actually feed you." He looks so wounded that I actually laugh. "Fine. Maybe we can make some sort of arrangement." I open the basket and start pulling out containers.

He doesn't even wait for me to finish before he starts opening things, oohing and ahhing appropriately. He opens a container, bringing it to his face, sniffing. "What's this?"

"Baked brie in puff pastry. Simple but delicious."

"Baked cheese? My woman knows what I like."

I smack his arm and he winces a little, and I pull out another container for him. "You'll love this then."

He pops it open, peeking in, and his face lights up. "Tiny grilled cheese!"

I pluck one out, biting back my grin at his reaction. "Well, they're fancy grilled cheese. Nice breads, expensive cheeses—" I lose my voice when he grabs my wrist, taking the piece of sandwich into his mouth. He looks blissful for a moment before he grabs the back of my neck, pulling me in for a kiss.

"Thank you, baby," he tells me a moment later, attention already back to the picnic basket.

"Wow. If that's the response I get for a grilled cheese, what on earth is chocolate covered fruit going to do to you?"

His entire body freezes for a moment, his eyes slowly drifting up to mine. "Seriously?"

I lean in close to him, my lips grazing his ear. "I don't joke around when it comes to chocolate."

His eyes flutter shut as a shiver runs down his body. "About that whole no-sex-on-the-roof thing…"

I laugh softly and lean into the basket once more, pulling out the promised container of fruit. "Are you ready to be horribly clichéd and feed this to each other?"

He settles back against the pillows, hands resting on his stomach, eyebrows waggling. "Cliché me up."

I grab a piece of chocolate covered fruit—who knows what it actually is. I cut everything into bite-sized chunks and covered them all completely—and laugh to myself for a moment before holding it out to Chandler, positioning it just in front of his lips. He keeps his eyes on me, his tongue darting out, barely grazing my fingers as the fruit disappears between his lips. My breath catches in my throat.

I'll be damned if this isn't actually one of the sexiest things I've ever seen.

Blindly, I reach for the container of fruit pieces and grab another one, holding it out for Chandler again, my breathing a little faster as I watch his mouth, waiting. He leans forward just a little, the tips of my fingers disappearing into his mouth for a moment as he snatches the chocolate from me.

I swallow heavily and maneuver onto his lap, balancing myself on his thighs, holding out another piece for him. All traces of his earlier mirth are gone as he stares me, his expression suddenly very serious. He takes the fruit from me very carefully this time, and my fingertips traces over his bottom lip for a few seconds. His teeth nip at me gently and he grabs the container from my hands, now holding out a piece for me.

This may be a cliché, but it's a cliché for a reason—it's ridiculously erotic.

I lean forward slowly, keeping my eyes on his, and I wrap my lips around his fingers, and I suddenly feel like I'm about to combust. I whimper just a little as the chocolate hits my tongue, and suddenly his hand is gone. He gently grabs the sides of my face and pulls me to him, kissing me hungrily, the box of dessert cast to the side, forgotten.

I slide forward, wrapping my legs around his waist, moving my hips slowly against his. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer, and I sigh happily against his mouth.

Something about this moment is completely perfect—the cool, spring air, the gentle breeze wafting across us that makes the twinkle lights dance in the night.

I think it's mostly has to do with the guy in my arms, though.

I feel one of his hands slide underneath my shirt, his fingertips chilly against the heat of my skin, and I jump at the contact. He presses his lips to my neck, gently kissing my throat, and I run my hands through his hair, my fingers playing with the soft, short strands.

He pauses for just a moment, wrapping his arms around me tightly. "I love you, Monica."

"I love you, too, Chandler." My response is automatic by this point, but wonderfully so. He says it, I answer, and vice versa.

His lips are on mine again and he's shifting us around, gently guiding my head to the pillows, his body covering mine.

Making out on the roof for a while could be okay.

His fingers slide under the edge of my shirt, gently stroking my skin, and I shift a little underneath him, letting him press me a little more firmly into the floor beneath us. I grab fistfuls of his shirt, my fingers flexing in time with our bodies' movements.

He pops up suddenly, his hands grabbing the back of his sweater, pulling it over his head, and my hands reach out, stroking his soft skin. He presses himself to me once more, and I wrap my arms around him tighter, keeping him warm.

Suddenly, it's not enough. I need to feel him against me. I pull at the bottom of my shirt, trying to slide it up my body, and he puts his hands on mine, stilling my motions. I'm only confused for a moment until he takes over, pulling it over my head, dropping it on top of his shirt. His hands slide up my back and I feel his fingers playing with my bra straps, sliding them down my shoulders.

I arch my back up, pressing myself against him, unable to get close enough.

His finger fumble at the clasp for a few moments—I can feel him shaking just a little—before it comes undone, the cool air rushing across my overheated skin. I shift my arms a little, both of us working to pull the bra off until it joins the growing pile of clothing.

Suddenly, sex on the roof doesn't seem like such a bad idea.

I grab at one of the blankets, pulling it over us, cocooning us, before my fingers go to the fly of his pants.

"You sure?" he mumbles against my mouth, his hands mirroring my actions, and I just nod. We work together to remove our pants, pushing them off to the side, and we're suddenly skin to skin, his warm weight covering me, sheltering me, his erection twitching against my thigh as we move gently against each other.

Everything is so tender and gentle I think I could cry.

Our lips move against each other slowly, carefully, as if we're both fragile and could break at any moment. His fingers move down me slowly, very slowly, delicately tracing the sides of my breasts and I shudder at the contact. His fingers skim my hips, my thighs, pulling my legs up a little so he fits against me more firmly.

I stroke my fingers gently up and down his spine, feeling his body shiver with every pass, growing harder against me by the moment, and I push myself against him, desperate for more.

This is actually perfect.

His hips shift and he slides into me bit by bit, taking his time, and I break my lips away from his to gasp out, moaning a little. Inch by inch he fills me, taking over the empty places inside of me, and I dig my fingers into his arms.

I let him set the pace, which is agonizingly beautiful. So slow, so tender. If he's not kissing me, he's stroking my hair back from my face, watching me, telling me he loves me, telling me that I'm beautiful.

Still, we move against each other slowly, neither of us in a hurry, the endgame a guarantee.

My heart thumps erratically against my chest, filled with so much love for this man. I want to be like this forever.

His hand captures mine, linking our fingers together, pressing our joined hands into the pillow next to my head and I cry out as he moves against me a little faster.

He tightens his fingers against mine, and I wrap my free arm around him, my nails gently scratching at his back, enough to make him shudder.

I stroke my foot up and down his calf a few times before wrapping it around his leg, pulling him closer, pushing myself against him a little harder.

I bury my face in his neck for a few moments, muffling the moans that escape me naturally every time we do this, vocally representing just what it is he does to me, what no one else has ever been able to do to me.

We're not making love right now—the love has already been created. It's part of us, part of who we are together. We're just in it, in the moment, becoming one person, one soul, one life. Adding to the love, maybe making more love in that respect.

It's almost too much to bear.

It's completely amazing, astounding, and just this side of too much. My heart hurts, aches, and I need him more than I can ever really express.

I look up from his neck and our eyes meet; he's not looking at me in any way that he hasn't been looking at me for months by this point, but it's still intense. There is so much in his eyes, so much that is always in his eyes, things that are probably in mine; all the things we feel for each other that have no words, that don't need words.

My hand comes up and strokes his cheek and he smiles at me gently, pressing his lips to mine once more, our bodies moving faster now, desperate for more of each other, for the release that only he can truly provide.

I tighten my legs around him and he groans, pausing for just a moment to get his bearings before grabbing my hip, his fingers firm against me. Our linked fingers squeeze against each other and he starts pushing into me urgently.

"Ohhhhhhhhh," I moan against his lips, trying to be as quiet as I can—even in New York, a woman screaming will eventually draw the attention of _someone_.

I feel tears leaking out of the corners of my eyes, something I've gotten used to happening at times. It's just another way I express what I feel for him, what he does to me, though I don't know if Chandler will ever get used to it.

"Oh, God," I whisper, moving hand down to his back again, my fingertips digging against his skin. I bring our joined hands closer, holding our arms and hands against our bodies.

I can't get close enough. I will never be able to get close enough. I want to be able to crawl inside of him and live forever.

I feel a coiling in the pit of my stomach and my entire body starts to vibrate, so close to the edge. I push against him more insistently and he responds in kind, speeding up, pushing harder, his gasps of pleasure mingling with mine in the April night.

"Oh, my God," I say again, a little louder and my hand goes down to his hip, trying to pull him against me harder. His hips are a flurry of movement for a few more moments and I explode, stars bursting behind my eyelids, a sob erupting from my body as I orgasm, my body tightening around his, my fingers grabbing his so tightly I feel like I must be breaking his bones.

He moves against me a few more moments, long moments, almost as if he's struggling to let go, trying to hold onto this for as long as possible before his body starts jerking against mine, releasing himself into me, and I stroke his sweaty hair even as I cry, holding him close.

He gasps for a few minutes, panting into my ear as his weight settles against my body, heavy but reassuring. "It's okay, Mon," he finally whispers, kissing my cheek. "It's okay."

I sniffle and nod, kissing his neck for a moment. "I know."

He gives me another squeeze and rolls off me, our bodies immediately curling into each other. I shiver as the cool air hits our sweaty skin and he immediately grabs his sweater, pulling it carefully over my head, helping me get it in place before he pulls the blanket tightly over us, warding off the chill.

"I love you," I tell him again, resting my head next to his on the pillow.

He gives my arm a gentle squeeze, kissing me softly. "I know. I love you, too."

I stroke his chest for a few minutes, the sounds of the street below oddly comforting. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Remember our first night together?"

"How could I forget? It was one of the best nights of my life."

I turn my head, kissing his shoulder, smiling a little. "Thank you. We had a lot of sex that night, right?"

"If memory serves."

"Well, that last time we did it…were you making love to me then?" I remember thinking that's what he was doing at that point, though it hasn't occurred to me to ask since then. So much happened in such a short amount of time, and we just sort of fell into each other after we got back from London, and it didn't really matter at the time. But for whatever reason, what we just did reminded me so much of that night, and I just need to know.

He chuckles against my hair, pulling me closer. "I tried like hell. That's what I was going for, though."

"You succeeded. I don't know if you knew that. It almost broke my heart it was so beautiful."

I feel him swallow slowly, and I think I've made him just a little uncomfortable. "Well, good. I'm glad."

I bring my hand to his cheek, turning his face to mine. We stare at each other for a few long moments, and I take him in—all of him. He's so beautiful. I don't know if he'd ever believe that, but it's true. I bring my face to his and kiss him, our arms wrapping around each other, holding each other close, before we sigh at the same time, coming to rest side by side once more.

"Don't let me fall asleep up here," I finally whisper, trying to lighten the mood just a little.

He laughs softly. "I can't make any promises. We weren't supposed to have sex on the roof and look where we are."

"Yeah, I need to work on my willpower."

"Overrated," he tells me, kissing the top of my head, and my eyes feel heavy all of a sudden. I burrow into his side, wrapping myself around him.

"Maybe just a few minutes," I mumble.

His breathing is steady beneath my ear, already out like a light.

* * *

*A/N…I think I damn near cried while writing parts of this. Maybe you'll cry, too. Then I won't feel like such a sap.

Also, this story is drawing to a close. It makes me a little sad to even say it, but I feel good about it. Monica and Chandler's story is changing...so, I should change things, too. Don't worry too much, though-there's still plenty in the pipeline (I hope).


	26. Chapter 26

For the first time in my life, I can see my future before me, and it doesn't scare me senseless.

I can see everything that's supposed to happen, that's _going_ to happen.

I'm going to get married, and have a family, and grow old, and it's okay.

It's more than okay.

It's great.

My future is standing right in front of me, looking at me with shock and more than a little joy in her eyes.

Monica.

It's always been Monica. It always will be.

I love this woman more than anything. Being with her is right, like it's the way things were supposed to happen.

"What did you just say?" she asks me, her eyes wide, her voice filled with so many more questions and just a little bit of hope.

I just grin at her, suddenly completely sure. "You roll another hard eight, and we get married here tonight."

A smile tugs at her lips even as she fights it. "Are you serious?"

For once in my life, yes. Dead serious. "Yes; I love you." I run my hand gently down the side of her face, and she looks at me with such love. "I've never loved anybody as much as I love you." And I never will.

"I've never loved anybody as much as I love _you_," she tells me, her voice soft, her smile so very sweet, and I feel myself fall in love with her even more.

"Okay. So, if an eight comes up, we take it as a sign and we do it. What do you say?" Please say yes, please say yes, please say…

"Okay!"

My heart leaps into my throat as I cheer her on, encouraging her winning streak. She turns and looks at me for a second, grinning from ear to ear, before tossing the dice the down the table. I hear them clunk but can only see one.

"Okay—that's a four! And where's the other one?" I scan the entire table, prepared to toss about as many cards and chips as I need to; my life is literally on the line right now.

"It went under the table," one of the gamblers slurs drunkenly.

"Nobody move!" Monica shouts, and even I freeze for a moment, waiting. She points off to the side, looking more than a little anxious. "Okay, you look that way, I'll look this way."

Immediately, I drop to my knees, searching around the clusters of feet; I realize it's not a large object, but it couldn't have just disappeared.

I crawl to the opposite end of the table, running into Monica and spotting the die at the same time. "Here it is! Here it is!"

We look at it at the same time; it's wedged against the leg of the table on an edge, two different numbers equally as visible. One number holds the key to my future, and the other…well, that's a direction I'm not sure I want to go in.

"That could be a four _or_ a five," Monica says, looking up at me earnestly. "It's your call."

I know what she's doing—she's trying to give me an out, to let me know that I don't have to do this.

I know I don't _have_ to do this; I know that I want to do it, though.

I look at her and smile, feeling complete. Finally, I'm whole, and it's all because of this tiny little woman before me. This tiny, beautiful, crazy, scary, strong, perfect woman.

"It's a four."

If a person can melt, then that's exactly what Monica does. Her smile grows wider and she almost looks like she could burst. "I think so, too."

I grin at her like an idiot—I don't know what else to do.

I'm getting married. To _Monica_.

Oh, my God.

She leans toward me and I meet her halfway, pressing my lips against hers; she can barely kiss me around her smile.

I'm not doing much better myself.

I feel a foot nudge against me and I lurch into Monica a little, our little moment broken. I shift onto one knee, moving to help her stand, when she grabs my hands. "We're getting married," she whispers as she bites her lip a little, her eyes huge. I just grin at her and pull her up with me. The people standing around the craps table are staring at us, waiting.

Even the dealer looks interested.

"We're getting married!" she exclaims, jumping up and down a little, and a drunken cheer of congratulations erupts from the crowd. We run back to the other side of the table to collect our winnings, then hurry off, hand-in-hand.

"Where should we go to do this?" she asks, her fingers tightly threaded through mine, and I just give her a look.

"Honey, we're in Vegas. All we have to do is walk outside, spin around a few times, and start walking. There are chapels _everywhere_."

She comes to a sudden stop, almost yanking my arm out of the socket in the process. "Oooh, wait!"

"Hey, ow!"

She scrunches her nose at me and starts pulling me toward the gift shop, leading me down the short flight of stairs into the small room.

"I can't get married until I have something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue."

If it gets her down the aisle faster, I'll do whatever she says. I glance around, my eyes landing on a pile of shirts and hats on a table. I pick up one and present it to her gallantly. "Okay—here's something blue _and_ new."

She smiles at me fondly, almost proudly. "You are so efficient! I love you." She grabs my face and kisses me briefly, and I head to the register.

"Okay, let's go." I'm so ready to get this show on the road, but she grabs my arm.

"No, wait! We need something old."

I can't help but wonder just how specific this set of items is—is there some sort of guideline, or can it literally be anything? "Uh, okay," I say, racking my brain for something, anything. "I have a condom in my wallet that I've had since I was twelve."

Surprisingly, her entire face lights up. "That'll work!"

Doubtful. I grimace a little. "I don't think so."

That doesn't seem to slow her down, though. "Okay. Now we just need something borrowed."

I look around the gift shop again, my eyes landing on the blue sweatshirt in my hands and gesture toward her. "Here—just take this."

She looks at me in alarm. "That's stealing."

Oh, Monica. "We'll bring it back," I assure her, looking over my shoulder quickly to see if anyone's watching. "Just put it under your dress."

She must be really excited to get married, too, because she glances around for a moment before balling up the shirt, tucking it under her dress. I look around as casually as I can to make sure we're still in the clear, and when I look back, she has her arms wrapped around the ball the sweatshirt makes, which looks alarmingly like a pregnant belly.

"Awwww," she says, one hand coming to rest on top of the bundle, and I'm sure I make some sort of face at her.

"Okay; one thing at a time." I grab her shoulders and steer her out of the shop, glancing over my shoulder as we go, though it's probably pointless. Either there are cameras all over this part of the building, too, and security will be swarming us any moment, or the gift shop is such a non-entity in a place like this that no one pays it a lot of attention.

We take a few careful steps as we walk toward the exit of the hotel, and when nothing happens, we walk a little faster. I glance down at her; she has her arms gently wrapped around the bundle beneath her dress, and she really does look pregnant. Enough so that a few people smile at her as we hurry through the casino, probably thinking she's the world's most adorable pregnant woman.

I hate to say it, but if that's what she'd look like pregnant, then it's absolutely true.

I feel a few cold fingers of panic clutch at my heart for a few seconds at that thought.

Not ready for kids. Not ready for kids. Not ready for kids.

We burst through the lobby doors into the cool Las Vegas night; I look around us as she pulls the sweatshirt out, tugging it on a few seconds later. Her hand finds mine and I point across the street—A Little White Chapel. "That work for you?"

She bounces up and down a little, the smile on her face huge. "Yes! Oh, my God, yes!"

We wait for a break in traffic and dart across the street, running into the neon building. "Hello!" I call out as we barrel through the doors. "One marriage, please!"

"Yep," Monica agrees enthusiastically. "We wanna get married."

Naturally, there's a ceremony in progress and we're asked to wait.

Dozens of wedding chapels in Las Vegas, and we had to find one that's already in use.

We sit down on a bench, and I hum what I think is the "Wedding March,' but, as Monica tells me, is actually "Pomp and Circumstance."

I'm an idiot, though I'm saved from further humiliation when I hear the recessional start up. I stand up slowly, my heart racing, and I turn to Monica, who suddenly looks a little shell-shocked.

"Okay—this is it! We're gonna get married."

Monica grabs my arm gently, a smile tugging at her lips. "Are you sure you wanna do this?"

Before I can answer, the chapel doors burst open, and I hear the laughter moments before I see anyone emerge.

Oh. My. GOD.

It's Ross and Rachel, arm-in-arm, faces covered in marker or ink, laughing hysterically. I think my jaw hits the floor.

"Hello, Mrs. Ross!" Ross exclaims, tossing a handful of rice that Rachel ducks to get under.

"Well, hello, Mr. Rachel!" she answers, tossing her own handful of rice in return, both still in hysterics.

Oh, they're hammered.

Oh, wow.

They don't even notice us as they run out of the building, going their separate ways to, my guess, puke.

Monica and I stare at each other, her fingers digging into my arm, our mouths open in shock.

"Whoa," she breathes.

"Oh, my God," I answer. I don't seem to be able to say anything else. My brain is still trying to process this. It happened so fast that it doesn't seem real.

What the hell is happening here?

Before I can open my mouth again, Phoebe and Joey come crashing through the doors, running right past us to go into the chapel.

Somehow, my jaw drops further.

"Oh, my God! Is _everybody_ getting married?" I ask; Monica just stands next to me, flabbergasted.

The pair of them emerge from the chapel, scolded by the attendant for running in the building. Phoebe's face contorts as she takes on her genuinely scary persona.

"Hey! Don't you give me any of your—" I guess our flapping jaws grabs her attention because her mood shifts swiftly as she sees us, a smile spreading across her face. "Hey!"

"What are you guys _doing_ here?" Monica asks, and I feel waves of doubt washing over me.

What the hell are we doing?

"Ross and Rachel left us a message saying they were getting married," Joey exclaims, then pauses, looking confused. "Isn't that why you guys are here?"

Monica and I look at each other uncomfortably as we try to play this off like _we_ weren't just about to get married. For whatever reason, it never occurs to our friends that the couple in the loving, committed relationship might have considered marriage; instead, they focus on Ross and Rachel.

Fine by me.

I'm now panicking.

I was just about to marry Monica.

In _Vegas_ of all places.

That's not how I want to do this, is it?

Do I genuinely even want to do this?

I keep looking at Monica out of the corner of my eye; I see her doing the same. I can only sort of focus on the conversation around me, though I hear my voice, so I know that I'm responding somehow.

But my heart is pounding in my ears.

Do I want to marry Monica?

Well…yeah. Someday. Probably.

If I ever get married, it will be to Monica-_that_ much I know. She's the only one I would ever want to commit myself to like that.

But do I really want to marry her here, and now?

Now that it's not all on impulse, this doesn't seem like such a swell idea.

I tune back in to the conversation long enough to hear Phoebe express genuine surprise at the fact that marriage in Vegas is just like marriage in the rest of the country, though she only ponders that for a moment before shrugging that off.

I can only guess what that's supposed to mean.

"Shouldn't we check on them?" Joey asks as Phoebe starts to leave the building. "I mean, they were pretty drunk last time I saw them, too."

"Yeah, I guess," Phoebe answers; Monica and I remain silent as we walk out of the building. The pathway's well-lit and there are no people to be seen hiding in the shrubbery. We _do_ manage to stumble across someone's puddle of vomit, which makes for a delightful cap on what has been, at the very least, the most eventful day I've had in a long time.

Talk about one hell of an anniversary.

Jesus—our anniversary.

We slowly follow Joey and Phoebe back to our hotel, the two of them chattering excitedly about our newly married friends, both seeming to think that _this_ will be the start of the rest of their lives.

Not likely.

I look over at Monica again and her eyes meet mine for half a second, giving me a small, nervous smile before she turns her attention to the casino looming in front of us, the lights bright enough to pass for daylight.

This is our one-year anniversary, and I don't know that I could imagine a more hellacious day. This should have been a great day—I've _never_ been able to celebrate something like this with a woman. A whole year. That's _huge_. Even more so for me, the guy who constantly resists commitment.

Except for this entire year, when I've done anything but resist it. All I've wanted is to belong to Monica, even after only being with her for a couple of weeks. The thought of her going on a date with some other guy drove me up a wall even then.

But since the beginning of "us," I've been the one to initiate a lot of the big things in our relationship, probably starting with still being on London Time; I asked her to exclusive, I went away with her on more than one weekend, I started keeping her clothes at my place…

I'm committed to this woman. There's no doubt about that.

But marriage…

That's really huge. I know technically, you can get out of it, but it's a lifelong commitment in my eyes. If I marry someone, I want to make damn sure it's the right thing to do, and not some kneejerk reaction to my girlfriend having lunch with her ex.

And there it is.

We ride up in the elevator, silently; Joey and Phoebe have barely given us a second glance as they plan out the number of kids Ross and Rachel are going to have, and their names. They manage to wish us a good night as we get off on our floor, but other than that, we're barely blips on their radars.

Still silent, we walk slowly to our room, and I pull the keycard out of my pocket, twiddling it between my fingers.

This…is weird.

I don't think that when I suggest we married it ever occurred to me that night would end like this.

If we'd gotten married a few minutes ago, would I still be having these thoughts? Would I be completely happy because Monica was suddenly legally bound to me? Or would I be freaking out because Monica was suddenly legally bound to me?

Was I really going to marry her because she had lunch with Richard yesterday?

I almost want to hang my head in shame.

Oh, God. I think I was.

I'm not ready to get married. I know Monica's been dreaming about a wedding her whole life, but I really don't think I'm ready.

I _do_ love her. I love her more than anything or anyone. But marriage…that's a big step.

I unlock our door and hold it open for Monica, who slips past me, barely touching me.

I hope she's not furious with me. Even if this still seemed like a good idea, I don't know that I'd want to get married on the same day that two of our closest friends stumble down the aisle themselves.

What kind of place lets people who are that plowed get married? Shouldn't there be some sort of standard for an event that can change your life?

I don't want to hurt Monica, but wouldn't it be worse to marry her and have regrets?

She walks quietly into the bathroom and I can hear the water running as she brushes her teeth.

I'm such an idiot.

I was going to marry this woman just because she had lunch with her ex-boyfriend.

Well, not just any ex-boyfriend. _The_ ex-boyfriend.

Richard.

The guy that left a giant, gaping hole in her heart. The guy she would be with today, and probably be married to right now, if he'd only wanted to have kids with her.

I feel a shiver of revulsion shoot down my spine at the thought of Monica still being with him. I would have missed out on the greatest thing in my life.

Glumly, I grab my pajamas and start changing, feeling depressed just at the thought of what could have been.

And I feel even worse that I wanted to marry mostly just so I could make sure Richard knows to keep away.

I'm pathetic.

Just a few hours ago, she told me that I'm the love of her life—that should fill me with so much joy, and it does to a degree. But still…the shadow of Richard Burke looms over me, dwarfing everything I do.

I believe Monica when she tells me that I'm the love her life, and she sure as hell is mine, but I can't help but feel incredibly insecure anyway. I don't want to, but it's there.

The bathroom door opens and we slide past each other, smiling at each other tentatively before I close the door behind, brushing my teeth distractedly.

Kids. Babies.

We haven't exactly talked about that, aside from a brief moment where I completely freaked out about marriage and children. All I got from that was that Monica didn't want any of that _yet_.

But I know she wants it. I know she wants a family.

Can I give that to her?

_Will_ I give that to her?

I know for a fact that I'm nowhere ready to have kids yet. Does that mean I'll never be ready for it, though?

It's not as if Monica's been pressuring me for it.

I don't know that she ever asked Richard for it, truthfully. All I know is that is he said he didn't want to go through fatherhood again, so she ended it with him. It made sense—they didn't want the same things, and even if she knew that it'd be a few years before she wanted to start a family, why drag out a relationship that will ultimately go nowhere.

But…is that something I want, somewhere down the road?

I can't…definitively say "no."

That's something, especially for me.

But I force myself to really think about it; do I want kids with Monica? Someday, can I see myself being married to her and having babies and living happily ever after?

A smile spreads across my face.

I can see it, actually.

It's a little fuzzy at the moment, but I can see it happening. I can see Monica cradling our baby in her arms, completely radiant and happy beyond words.

I can see us moving into a house one day so we can raise our kids somewhere we could all spread out and have room to grow.

The more I think about it, the sharper that picture gets.

I don't think it'll happen tomorrow, but I think it _could_ happen.

I know for a fact that I don't want her having any of that with someone else. I want to be the one to give that to her some day.

Yeah, it's a few years off, but…I can see it.

I realize I've been brushing my teeth for at least five minutes, so I rinse out my mouth and head back into the bedroom; Monica's already under the covers, propped up just a little, the only light coming from the lamp on my side of the bed.

I slide in next to her and switch off the light, turning to face her just a little. She looks over at me, her expression mostly hidden in the dark of the room. I know we'll have to talk about this. All of this. Not just that we almost got married and where do we go from here, but about things like the possibility of kids and marriage in the future.

If nothing else, I want her to know that this isn't a dead end relationship, and one day we'll have all that. Yes; marriage and kids are scary, but the thought of losing Monica is worse.

I don't think I'd recover.

I reach out and stroke her arm gently, and she slides across the bed to me, wrapping herself around me. I feel most of the tension immediately drain out of my body.

We still have _this_. We haven't lost this.

I don't know what tomorrow will be like. Will she still want to get married? Will a new day make her realize just how impulsive and, at least on my part, idiotic of an idea it was?

As long as she still wants to be with me, I can deal with anything else.

Because she _is_ my future, even if I'm not ready for it yet. She's my endgame. I know it. And it does scare me a little, but it's kind of a good scared.

"I love you," I whisper, pulling her closer, resting my head on top of hers.

"I love you, too," she answers softly, giving me a little squeeze.

One year ago tonight, we were in a hotel room.

One year ago tonight was the eve of Ross's second wedding, and today was his third.

One year ago tonight, Monica showed up at my door and inexplicably threw herself at me, putting an unprecedented amount of faith in me catching her.

One year ago tonight, my life changed forever.

What I thought was a one-night-stand led to the best year of my life.

I don't know what I did to deserve this. I don't know how I got so lucky.

I fell in love with the most incredible woman ever to exist, and she loves me back. She loves me enough to put up with all of my stupid insecurities and issues. Even when I try to push her away, she comes back to me, waiting patiently for me to get my act together.

This is not someone I should ever let go. I need to grab onto her with both hands and hold on for dear life. I need to let her know that I wouldn't go anywhere without a fight.

She _is_ worth fighting for. She was worth the wait, and I'll do anything I can to keep her.

Because I love her, and as long as she's foolish enough to love me back, there's no way in hell I'll ever give her up.

* * *

*A/N…I'm sorry if this is an anticlimactic ending to this story; I did the thing I hate, which is take a bunch of preexisting dialogue and use it in my story, but there was some stuff in between that we never got to see, and I think it's a nice segue to the next chapter of their story.

Yeah, like you guys thought there wouldn't be a continuation.

I just felt that The World Will Follow needed to come to an end at some point. The next story will probably be a little different because their relationship is different. Maybe less smut. I don't know what's going to happen. I never know what's going to happen when I sit down to write. I usually start with one line or one thought and type and it ends up in a completely different direct than I ever anticipated.

This is a little sad, though, because I've been working with this story for a few months now, and I'm pretty damn proud of a lot of it. Thank you so much for reading it and giving me so much feedback and I honestly hope you've enjoyed it as much as I have writing it.

Please stay tuned for the next part of their story.

Oh yeah…this is awkward. Is it weird if I ask you guys not to call me Meggie? No one's ever really called me that—it was just a handle I came up with years ago. I usually go by Megan or Meg. I mean, if you call me Meggie, I won't flip a table or anything but…yeah, I'd prefer it.


End file.
